Mass Effect: Dark Saga
by Mothbanquet
Summary: Epic thriller spanning entire Mass Effect trilogy and more. Lieutenant Shepard, agent of the deadly Infiltrator Corps of the Systems Alliance, is dropped behind enemy lines as part of an assault on the pirate moon of Torfan. The mission does not go as planned however, and will set in motion a chain of events that will change the galaxy forever... LIs: ME1 - Liara, ME2 & 3 - Tali
1. Chapter 1

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter One: Dust and Tears***

The wind was strong that day. It dragged across the barren earth, carrying with it great eddies of dust that swirled into the air, becoming dark smudges against a murky yellow sky. Brown hills rose in the distance like broken teeth, jealously guarding the horizon from the colonist's sight as he squinted down at the valley beyond.

The man's short, straw-coloured hair fluttered in the stiff breeze and he kept his lips firmly closed against the fine grit that would find its way into his mouth if he let it. The wind was always blowing on that desolate world but it was a small hardship in exchange for the natural wealth it offered.

Even on the hill from which he was surveying the harsh land, the colonist could make out rich, silvery lines of palladium ore winding through the lowlands like pale rivers and he knew there would also be deposits of cobalt nearby. The planet was untapped and he was certain that within a few years the colony would flourish.

The man's leathery, sun-dried face creased into a smile at the thought. It was all a colonist could ask for; a safe, prosperous future for his family.

The thought made him look over his shoulder to where his son was busy unpacking their shuttle. The boy was tall for sixteen, with the same head of fair hair as his father and he looked up to the older man with eyes the colour of Earth's skies.

'It's all there, dad,' he said, nodding to the pile of crates he had unloaded.

His young face was already lined after months of squinting against the dust and sun, and his voice was deep for his age.

His father looked at him affectionately. 'That's good. I don't think we'll find a better spot before nightfall. Here, hand me a beacon.'

The boy opened a nearby box and picked out a slender metal rod, the end of which held a yellow light and tossed it to his father, who caught it neatly before planting it into the ground. Immediately the rod let out a low hum, the vibrations sending a gentle cascade of loose soil trickling down the slope.

'You want me to set up the shelter here?' the boy asked. 'The wind's pretty strong on this side of the hill. We'd be better off on the north face.'

The colonist grinned to himself as he continued to look out upon the harsh landscape. It took a strong man to forge a living on the frontiers and his son was as tough and sharp as they came.

'Maybe you're right. See to it while I set up the seismic sensors.' After a moment's indecision, the man held up a dirty hand. 'Actually, before you go, I want to show you something.'

He crossed over to where his son stood and hefted a small case up onto the hood of the shuttle. It was thin and as long as his arm, and the boy's eyes lit up with enthusiasm at the sight of his father's sniper rifle as it was lifted up carefully. The weapon came alive in his hands, sprouting a long, black barrel and a scope that caught the pale sun with a bright glint.

'Out here,' the man said, looking down at the rifle that had followed him out of the Alliance Marines, 'a man has to learn to defend what he loves. You can practice whenever you want at home but make sure you let me know first. And don't tell your sister, you know she'll only get jealous.'

The boy could only grin as he took the rifle from his father's hands. He spoke hesitantly, unable to find the right words. 'Okay, Dad, I promise.'

His father finally shed his stern mask and beamed at his only boy. 'You're a Shepard, son, in name and deed. We always keep those we care about safe, no matter what.'

The young Shepard gazed at the rifle with reverence. He whispered and the sound was lost to the wind before his father could hear.

'A Shepard…'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

'Shepard!'

Lieutenant Shepard blinked awake. Confusion painted his lean, hard features for a moment before he composed himself, the taste of bitter dirt in his mouth fading. The wind was still there though, roaring in his ears with a force that made his head throb.

'Shepard!' the raucous voice shouted again, straining to be heard.

Again, Shepard screwed his eyes shut to banish the fog from his thoughts. He turned his head, taking in the shuttle interior without expression. It was almost pitch-black in there and only the dull glow of the sky outside the open door highlighted Lieutenant Mason as he stood hunched, wedged in the door frame to brace himself against the raging winds.

'Quite a view, huh? You think they'll let us stop and take pictures?'

Shepard wanted to smile at the remark but between the sleepy haze that still covered his mind and the pressing anxiety over the mission to come, he could manage only a stiff nod.

Mason grinned, his teeth a white flash against dark skin and an even darker suit of Onyx armour. The grey ceramic plating had been layered with a fibrous mesh to prevent shine, rendering Shepard's fellow lieutenant a dense shadow before a lurid red backdrop.

'You should come see this, man,' Mason said, turning back to the sky. 'It's beautiful. Just beautiful.'

Though the burgeoning thoughts of impending combat were like rough hands on Shepard's shoulders, pushing him down, curiosity brought him reluctantly to his feet. He needed to get up, get moving and he staggered slightly with the roll of the shuttle as he made his way to the open door. His own set of medium-grade Onyx armour scraped as he pressed into the gap and immediately, ice-cold gales tore at Shepard's face. They ruffled his dark blonde hair and made him squint until his eyes were glinting slivers, staring out at the scene before him.

Torfan was a rock; a lifeless, jagged landscape of blackened peaks and plateaus above which sat a thin but turbulent atmosphere of oxygen-rich air, thick with the smell of ash. Watching over it all was the moon's parent planet, a giant ball of churning red and orange. It sat above them all, presiding over the unfolding violence like a judge, waiting to proclaim a winner. Shepard wished he'd learnt its name.

The real beauty Mason mentioned lay in the streams of anti-ship fire that cut through the dark skies, arching in glowing lines towards ships hidden by the blackness of space. The lieutenant stood transfixed by the hypnotic display and Shepard's eyes flickered to him briefly before falling to the moon's surface again. Somewhere below, hidden in the folds and tendrils of shadow, a pirate base lay like a spider within its web.

The Alliance had finally tracked the perpetrators of the Elysium attack, the largest and most audacious attack ever on a human colony, to this place and would fall upon them with all its might. Shepard's grip on the door frame tightened in satisfaction at the thought of almost a hundred Alliance warships high above, waiting to enter the fray. Though he could not see them, he felt a warm sense of excitement at the force they would bring once the operation had begun in earnest.

The shuttle's pilot spoke concisely over Shepard's suit radio, barely heard over the roar of the wind. 'Two minutes. High winds out there so be careful disembarking.'

Shepard turned to face his team; three others including Mason. Webber and Tajima occupied the other side of the shuttle and they straightened in their seats as they sensed their squad leader's eyes upon them. Giving them a brief, subtle nod of acknowledgement, Shepard raised a hand to his ear and patched his comms through to their commanding officer.

'Major, we're almost at the _LZ_.'

Major Kyle answered immediately, his strong voice coming in cleanly. 'Copy that, Shepard. We're still about five minutes out. Hit that communications tower hard and intercept what you can. The software on your omni-tool will do the rest.'

Shepard nodded and a quick glance at his team showed they understood too. 'Yes, Sir. What's the word on the invasion?'

'Thirty minutes. We should have plenty of time to stir up trouble in that time and it looks like General Fairburn will need it. From where I'm standing it doesn't like the bombardment did a lot of damage.'

As he scanned the dark land, Shepard's lips twisted in irritation. He had only seen a few surface buildings on the way in; pale, squat structures that only spoke of more deep under the moon's surface, where Alliance shells could not reach them. The relentless bombardment over the course of the previous day had been a show of force, nothing more and if anything, had only alerted the slavers to their presence.

Hiding his frustration, Shepard replied, 'I'll feel a lot better once we're ground side and we can get the job done right.'

Kyle chuckled. 'I hear that. Good luck, all of you. Once this is over, you'll all be wearing N7 patches on your uniforms.'

The line clicked softly and Mason grinned widely at Kyle's words, readying his helmet. 'This is it, Shepard, the big one. You ready?'

Shepard looked out on the bright swathes of anti-ship fire, assessing the battlefield with a clinical eye, his fear muted and distant. As Infiltrators, every man and woman on his team had seen combat, both on the front lines and beyond them. Like Shepard, some had worked undercover, penetrating lies and uncovering the intelligence that had led the Alliance to Torfan in the first place.

To a man, Infiltrators were almost always successful in their bids to become N7-ranked Special Forces, the most prestigious role in the Alliance military and Shepard had been selected to lead the team over all others in this, their last test before earning their rank.

He looked at Mason stonily and the junior lieutenant held up his hands in mute apology before securing his helmet in place. Shepard was always ready. It did not need to be asked.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

General Douglas Fairburn's knuckles were white with frustration and he kept them balled into fists at his side, ruining the immaculate lines of his uniform. His lips were thin and pale, pressed into a thin line by the same anger that made his green eyes glitter dangerously.

'Sir,' he growled at the man on the screen in front of him, 'I must repeat my protests. We've already received confirmation that the naval bombardment has failed. If we're going to take Torfan, we need to take more immediate action!'

The slender eyebrows of Fleet Admiral Walsh arched skeptically. He was younger than Fairburn, with tanned skin that had only just started to show the lines of age. He bored the arrogant manner of one who had achieved too much, too quickly and his deeply-set brown eyes regarded Fairburn with quiet disdain.

'Your concerns are noted, General, but ultimately unfounded. _Reliable_ intel received from drone fly-bys puts the number of escapees well within acceptable bounds. And the physical effect of our bombardment was always going to be minimal but that is besides the point.' He smiled condescendingly. 'This is about showing anyone who might think of attacking our colonies what the Alliance is capable of.'

Fairburn let out a long, angry breath. 'Without men on the ground, _Sir_, all we're showing them is that we're too busy sitting on our asses while they slip through our fingers!'

'This "immediate action" of yours,' Walsh sneered, 'will do nothing more than endanger the men of this fleet. It's reckless, irresponsible and it's something I won't allow.'

Fairburn's nostrils flared as he lost patience. 'Those drones of yours have a blind spot over two miles wide.'

He gestured sharply to his right, where the bridge window of the dreadnought _SSV Shasta_ overlooked the rugged surface of Torfan. 'The techs have already said the planet's radiation is actively interfering with the drones' sensors and more importantly, the damned pirates know it too! We estimate thirty ships have made it through in the past hour alone. If you hold off any longer, they'll all be gone when we arrive and then how will humanity look to the rest of the galaxy, marching right into an empty fortress?'

The admiral did not answer immediately, offering him only a brief smile of false courtesy. When the response finally came, the snide tone brought furious colour to Fairburn's features.

'I think I understand, General. You had a good run in the First Contact War, I'll give you that, but when Elysium came around the Fourth Fleet was nowhere to be found and the Second was given the task of aiding the colony.'

'That has nothing to do with it!' Fairburn spat through clenched teeth.

'You missed your big chance,' Walsh continued, unperturbed. 'Is that what this is? Your last shot at getting in on the action and adding your name to the board at High Command?'

Fairburn glared at him, his chest heaving with barely restrained anger. Walsh had only been appointed head of the Fourth Fleet a year before. He had not seen the Blitz as Fairburn had, nor suffered the indignity of watching Alliance forces arrive too late to save many of the colonists. Fairburn _knew_he could have done better were his fleet the ones chosen. The last thing he would tolerate was a snot-nosed greenhorn like Walsh telling him his business.

'I think we're done here, Admiral,' he snapped and with a brief gesture, he ordered the communications crew to cut the transmission.

The Shasta's CIC buzzed with activity as every serviceman and woman busied themselves with some task or other. It was the industrious, nervous bustle of a ship at war and the only place Fairburn desired to be more was down on Torfan's surface, directing the battle.

'I've had enough of this,' he muttered, turning to his adjutant. 'Send out a flash-priority signal to all battalion commanders. I want boots on the ground in less than an hour, before the situation gets any worse. It's time to get this done right.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

The dusty land trembled beneath Major Kyle with frightening urgency. He lay in darkness, awaiting the slaver convoy in the lee of a hill, protected from the light of the planet and distant sun. The other three members of his squad were somewhere in the perfect shadow, invisible save for the tiny red lights on their weapons, and those would be all but undetectable at a distance.

Though he could not see the rest of his team, Kyle felt their presence as a cold chill on his spine, frightening and yet supremely satisfying. They were his killers and they would make sport of the slavers that trundled along the supply road.

They were visible now; three heavy goods trucks with a light armour escort in the rear. The tank was small and squat, with a low turret atop a boxy chassis that creaked and groaned over the rough earth. Against an exposed infantry platoon it would cause casualties but from their ambush position, Kyle's squad would make light work of it. The major waited patiently until the trucks had drawn level with them before gently thumbing the marker light on his armoured wrist.

A whoosh cut through the air and the tank lifted from its wheels in a roar of orange flame before crashing upside-down upon its turret. The blackened hunk of metal exploded as all around, the night flared into violence. Blue tracers sliced through the sky, joining the red planet and stars in a display of deadly beauty.

Kyle opened fire and his Lancer assault rifle churned out smooth volleys that hammered into the sides of the trucks. Two of his team joined in, immediately focusing on several flailing figures that tumbled from the vehicles. Some of the slavers tried to fire blindly from their windows but the rounds disappeared harmlessly into the inky shadow around Kyle's team. Somewhere to his left came the deep, booming thump of a sniper rifle and one by one, the answering streams were cut off as the truck windows exploded in showers of glittering metal and glass.

Within seconds, it was over. Kyle tried to steady his breathing and ran a hand over his dark, sweating skin before forcing himself to his feet. The tank was nothing more than a burning husk at the rear of the convoy and the trucks were filled with tiny holes, their wheels surrounded by splayed bodies clad in blood-soaked armour. The sour stench of oil joined the smoke, making Kyle's eyes water.

His team fell in behind him as he looked to the ground, where a slaver grasped feebly at the dirt, trying to pull himself across the ground. He groaned with effort and even at a distance, Kyle could tell he didn't have long to live.

Drawing his pistol, Kyle strode up to the wounded pirate and pulled the trigger without hesitation, his face lighting up in a yellow flash before falling dark once again.

He turned to his men, his expression stern. 'Search the trucks for anything useful, then set the charges. We move in five.'

The man closest to him nodded sharply and they set to work as Kyle keyed his suit radio. 'Shepard, this is Kyle. Target Alpha is down. We're moving to-'

'Sir?'

Kyle frowned at the shout that came from behind the closest truck. His lips twisted irritably. 'Hold on a second.'

He quickly rounded corner and stared at the soldier that had called him over. 'What is it, Lieutenant?'

'Sir, you'd better take a look at this,' the man answered, dipping his head towards the ground.

Kyle's frown deepened at the sight of the large shipping crate that had been hauled from the back of the truck. It was heavy, with smooth white casings and a complex keypad that glowed in the deep gloom. After only a moment, Kyle's breath stuck fast in his chest as his eyes passed over a shipping logo that had become more and more familiar to him over the past year. It was black and angular, a fist motif that had flaked away in places.

'Batarian State Arms,' he muttered under his breath. 'I don't believe it. If the Batarian Hegemony has been supplying these pirates all this time…'

He trailed off, not wanting to say aloud what every man there feared. The batarians had been jostling with the Alliance over territory for years and the alien nation had all but retreated into itself, cutting themselves off from the galactic community in their bitterness. Though the batarians had not yet openly declared war on humanity, it was assumed only the strong Alliance fleets kept that particular desire in check.

Kyle looked up to the planet above, lost in indecision for a moment. The giant red orb glared down at them balefully, the deep, dark colour of blood and war. It was an ill omen, the major knew.

He raised a hand to his ear again. 'Shepard, we have a problem.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

The communications tower loomed tall overhead. It was an ugly thing, a stark, bare tree of grey metal and plastic. Blinking red lights paced up and down its length and Shepard could almost hear a thin warbling coming from it, a noise that scratched at his brain and made his teeth ache.

The first two pirates were not far away. Shepard realised their backs were turned and he increased his pace, eager to take advantage and ensure a clean kill. At twenty paces, he raised his pistol and fired.

The Kessler rattled in his hands, the reports sharp, perforating the air with several piercing bangs. The first slaver shook as his armour shattered at the back and dropped to the ground a moment later, dark blood oozing from the holes. His companion barely had time to turn around before another salvo hammered into his helmet, killing him instantly.

Shepard ignored Mason as the lieutenant rushed past, intent on checking the bodies. Too many times had they heard of a supposed 'dead' hostile returning to life to put a slug into his killer, medigel carrying them through agony to land the killing shot.

Mason hefted his Lancer rifle easily and picked out a man at the base of the tower. A streak of faded blue reached across his vision, snatching up the scrambling figure and Mason swore inwardly. If he did not hurry, Tajima would claim them all.

Another pair emerged from behind the tower's base and Mason dropped to a knee, taking one of the slavers high in the chest. A heartbeat later, Tajima fired again, killing the final one in a spray of ceramic fragments and gore.

Shepard flowed past Mason, his pistol outstretched as he approached. He offered a cursory glance at the still bodies ahead and pressed on, his breathing growing heavy. Beyond the dark corner of the tower, something moved and Shepard exhaled in relief as Webber jogged out of the shadow.

'Two down,' she stated formally.

Shepard nodded and addressed them all over the radio. 'That's seven for seven. Good job, people. Tajima, keep a look out to the north. If they send someone to investigate before we're done we'll need to lay on a special welcome.'

'Copy that, Shepard. I am oscar-mike to new over watch position.'

Panting lightly, Shepard strode back out to the front and looked on with quiet approval as Mason opened a link to the tower with his omni-tool. The device blossomed on his arm in bright shades of yellow and orange, and shifted in blocky patterns as it worked to upload the surveillance software into the pirates' network. The software was highly advanced, even for Alliance, having been provided at great cost by the salarians.

The thought of the long-limbed amphibians brought strong memories to Shepard of long nights of wet jungle heat. He had been on a few reconnaissance exercises with their alien allies and had found them to be worthy of admiration, their skill at arms surpassed only by their quick wits and enviable intellect.

Major Kyle's voice came in over Shepard's radio, interrupting his thoughts. 'Shepard, this is Kyle. Target Alpha is down. We're moving to-'

Shepard frowned as he heard Kyle mutter, then return with concern in his voice moments later. 'Shepard, we've got a problem. We're seeing a lot of batarian weapons and gear in this convoy. Far too much to be stolen.'

A subtle tension came over Shepard as memories flooded through him, of dust and tears, of an old rifle that trembled in his hands.

'Batarians,' he growled. 'Do you think the Hegemony has been arming these guys all along?'

'It's possible. In fact, it's more than likely given the tensions between our people and theirs.'

Shepard snorted. 'Typical. They can't win conventionally, so they resort to state-sponsored insurgency and terrorism.'

'It's still too early to jump to rash conclusions,' Kyle reminded him, 'but the evidence doesn't look good. More importantly, Alliance Command planned this operation around the assumption that the pirates would be packing the same kind of heat as Elysium.'

Shepard picked up on the train of thought and his pale eyes turned out to the sky beyond the rocky horizon. 'And they're going to come in hard, expecting an easy fight. If the batarians have been supplying the slavers then…'

His words petered out as he watched the distant skies. He could see the invasion force now as a cloud of glittering specks, a dense swarm of landing shuttles entering the moon's atmosphere.

'Send out a warning,' Shepard said as he paced suddenly on the spot, his growing anxiety telling with every step. 'Get the word out to General Fairburn, tell him the slavers are ready for us!'

It was too late. Shepard looked up sharply as before his eyes, the jagged lines of Torfan came to life.

Gun turrets, each a bulky, disproportionate mass of weaponry, emerged from the ground all along the ridges of the landscape. Some had been deliberately covered by rocks and debris, and only a hundred paces from Shepard one rose up out of a hillside, its gears whining with dust and sediment. The gun gleaming menacingly in the dim light before turning slowly to the invasion force.

'Oh God,' Kyle whispered over the radio.

The guns opened fire as one, filling the night with crashes of thunder. Light speckled the horizon as dozens of slugs were launched and smoke swelled from the turrets' bases as missiles were launched in a deadly barrage towards the landing force.

Shepard felt helpless and his body burned with the need to get moving, to do _something _as the first of the shuttles were consumed by the fire. The landing force became speckled with white flashes and many fell from the mass, burning bright lines to the ground below.

Mason broke away from his hacking to stand alongside Shepard in horrified awe.

'I don't believe it,' he murmured. 'What do we do now? Do we go and help?'

Shepard pursed his lips before shaking his head. 'We have to stick to the mission, no matter what.'

Mason was visibly shaken despite his best efforts to hide it and he gestured towards the shuttles. 'A lot of marines are dying out there, Shep. Does it feel right to you? To just sit here?'

Shepard set his jaw as he brought his feelings under control. 'It doesn't matter how we feel, Mason. We know these bastards have access to high-end equipment now and that means it's even more important we learn what we can before we act. Let the marines do their job. We'll help them by doing ours.'

Reluctantly, Mason nodded once before turning back to the tower. Shepard watched him for a moment before looking out on the unfolding chaos once again, his face illuminated starkly with the fire that had engulfed the sky.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Fairburn closed his eyes against the glare of another explosion, this one close enough to rock his shuttle, making it sway in the air. The thick formation of the landing craft had provided the pirates with a mass of easy targets and Fairburn still felt the hollow sickness in his stomach from when his eyes first caught sight of the gun batteries rising from the distant hills like deadly spectres.

He watched the stricken shuttle labour on for a few seconds before plunging to the dark ground below in a trail of silky, golden flame. The engines whined pitiably as they failed and the crash punctured the steady din of shell detonations and clattering gunfire.

Through the open door, Fairburn tasted noxious fumes on the wind and he bared his teeth in outright anger. Intel had said _nothing_ of this! These slavers should have had only the most basic of anti-aircraft weaponry. The line of turrets that faced them was far more advanced than anything the scum should have had access to.

Fire swallowed another of the landing shuttles and Fairburn came to a decision, his sharp mind picking apart the details of the ground flashing by beneath them.

'There!' he shouted to the man next to him as he pointed towards a black circle of shadow almost directly below them. 'Set us down in that crater. There should be enough relief to provide cover from those guns until I figure a way out of this mess.'

The soldier clasped a hand to his ear and relayed the orders to the pilot.

Moments later Fairburn's stomach heaved as the shuttle dove sharply to seek shelter in the wide, dark crater. The rest of the landing force moved as one, following them down until the entire fleet was wreathed in shadow, broken only by the sharp flares of thrusters as the shuttles steadied themselves for landing.

Barely had his craft touched down before Fairburn was out, strolling across the dusty land, his head craning as he calmly observed his new position for advantages or weaknesses. He turned over defensive locations, supply routes, assault paths for his marines, all small puzzles that he worked to solve under the constant storm of battle.

'Get all local assets on the horn,' he snapped into his suit radio. 'I'm commandeering all available units to salvage this situation before it gets any worse.'

'Yes, Sir,' his adjutant replied hastily. 'We have two Infiltrator teams in the area led by a Major Kyle.'

'Kyle,' Fairburn repeated to himself. He remembered the man from one of the many briefings that had preceded the operation. Dark-skinned, lean and with the quiet confidence that typified Special Forces types. He nodded. 'Patch him through.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Shepard watched Mason's eyes grow wide even before the lieutenant called him over. Mason had been listening to intercepted pirate communications, leaving the others to pace in constant worry, wondering what would become of the marine landing force. That fear was immediately replaced by another as Shepard approached him.

Mason clutched his ear, desperate to hear every word spoken over the hacked channels and looked up as Shepard knelt beside him. 'You're 'gonna want to hear this,' he said.

Nodding once, Shepard used his omni-tool to link his suit radio with Mason's. Instantly, a wash of fizzy static entered his ears, fading out in seconds to unveil a deep, throaty voice that snarled with vicious malice. It was batarian, of that Shepard had no doubt.

'Perimeter defences are online now but that won't hold them forever. Make sure bunkers one through seventeen are fully stocked. We only need a few hours to load up the heavy transports and even should the Alliance break through, we have our little insurance policy.'

Shepard furrowed his brow and glanced at Mason, whose features echoed his own confusion.

'The slaves have been packed into the cargo holds of our transports,' another voice growled. 'Fifty males, thirty females and twenty-seven children. The Alliance should think twice about shooting us down when they hear we have their precious citizens in the bellies of our ships.'

The first batarian laughed. 'And if their pathetic soldiers get too close, we'll threaten to kill them all. I hate to waste a profit but if it's between their lives and ours, then it's no choice at all.'

Breathing heavily, Shepard closed down the connection. He stared at Mason, his thoughts moving too quickly for him to grasp. 'They're holding civilians in their transports,' he said quietly. 'Families.'

'We should've seen it coming,' Mason replied. He scratched his head. 'We should get the word out fast, warn the fleet.'

Shepard did not need to be told. He immediately raised Kyle on his radio. 'Major, it's Shepard. We have a situation.'

'Shepard, we need to maintain radio silence. This had better be important.'

'It's important, Sir,' Shepard responded, eyeing Mason for a moment before continuing. 'We've just intercepted a transmission from what we believe is the slaver command team. They spoke of hostages, slaves numbering over a hundred in total, men, women and children. Sir, the slavers are planning to fly them out in heavy transports, using them as human shields.'

The line fell silent for a moment as Kyle digested the news. 'I see. That makes things difficult.'

'What do you mean, Sir?'

'Shepard, I've just received a priority message from General Fairburn, head of ground forces in the area. He wants these gun batteries disposed of before they inflict any more casualties on his men.'

Shepard let out an impatient breath through his nose. 'Sir, my team can infiltrate the main complex. We know the hostages are being held in the main hangars, in the cargo transports. If we-'

'Shepard, this isn't up for discussion,' Kyle interrupted. 'I don't like it any more than you do but we have our orders. Right now we need to make a hole in the slavers' defences big enough for Fairburn to move his troops through. When those guns are down, then we can think about rescuing those people.'

The words sat like bitter acid in Shepard's stomach. He stared blankly at the ground and it took a prompt from Kyle to bring him to his senses.

'Lieutenant, is that clear?'

Swallowing, Shepard finally replied. 'Yes, Sir. Send the co-ordinates of our target and we'll move right away.'

As the line disconnected, Mason looked at Shepard warily. 'You okay, Shep? Earlier you were all about putting the mission first but when the major mentioned leaving those people behind, you had the funniest look on your face. Something wrong?'

Shepard sniffed loudly, dropping a veil over his emotions as he had been taught to do many years ago. It was a skill that any Infiltrator agent had to learn and to Shepard, it came easier than most.

'It's nothing. Come on, we have to get going.'

Shrugging, Mason lifted his rifle and followed his team leader out into the darkness. Around them, the night rattled with the sounds of war and beneath the great red planet in the sky, the line of mountains in the distance shimmered with explosions.

The battle for Torfan had truly begun in earnest, though as he strode on, Shepard's only thoughts were of tear-stained cheeks and panic-stricken eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Two: Dogs of War***

A nearby explosion lifted rock and dust into the air, a black eruption that showered Fairburn and his men. They hunched into the collars of their armour as the falling dirt pattered on the hard panels like rain.

'Damn it!' the general swore venomously, his mouth twisted in desperate fury. He held up his head and his eyes swept the distant ridge. 'Those guns should be down by now. Where the _hell_ are Kyle and his men?'

The rocky line ahead was dappled with flashes of hazy yellow as the gun towers continued to lay down their ceaseless barrage. Ahead of Fairburn, three platoons of marines waited in grim anticipation for the order to move on, their ranks reaching all the way to the the slope of the ridge itself. They shuffled on their feet, with no one eager to face down what waited for them.

Fairburn ground his teeth in frustration as a captain strode up to his shoulder, the edges of his armour sharp with the red glow of Torfan's parent planet. 'Sir, we've received scans from the recon drone pickets on the northern flank. Details are sketchy until intel can scrub the images but it looks like there's a bunker complex dug into the hillsides in front of the artillery turrets.'

'Protecting them,' Fairburn growled. His eyes snapped to the captain. 'What about mines? Trenches? Anything you can tell me about enemy numbers?'

The captain shook his head. 'Nothing, Sir. My guess is the slavers didn't have the time to lay down minefields or dig new fortifications. The bunkers have been here for decades at least but those turrets don't show signs of previous use or weather fatigue. They're brand new.'

Fairburn's gaze drifted beyond the captain, to where three _Mako_ Armoured Personnel Carriers sat motionless. They had been dropped into the new staging area with pinpoint precision, their on-board thrusters softening the landing with ease and now they waited impatiently like dogs eager for the kill.

Fairburn wanted to spit in anger. If they moved beyond the ridge the slaver artillery would make a mockery of their armour. In a single moment, what should have been their ace-in-the-hole became a chain around their ankles. There was nothing more frustrating to Fairburn than a wasted asset and those dormant Makos were as big as wasted assets got.

'Five more minutes,' he said, turning back to the captain. 'I'm giving Kyle five more minutes. After that, we'll have to assume he and his men failed and move on. Make sure all platoons boost their kinetic barriers to maximum and medics are standing by. If it comes to charging their lines, we're going to have casualties.'

The captain seemed to sag at the thought. 'I don't doubt it, Sir. Those pirates are really pounding that ridge line. Do you think we'll be able to break through with our current forces?'

Fairburn eyed the ridge and took a deep breath. His response was cold. 'We're marines, Captain. We'll either break through or die trying. Fortunately for you, I have no intention of dying.'

The words were of little comfort to either of them and the captain gave the hill a final, resigned glance before returning to his men.

Fairburn snatched a datapad from the hands of a subordinate. Detailed analysis of the drone reports scrolled down the screen and the general read them, undisturbed by the explosions that rocked the ground around him. Five minutes was more than he could afford and with every passing second he silently cursed Kyle for the delay.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

The turret fired in bursts of three. Each volley spewed from its barrel in licks of flame that illuminated Shepard's face, a grim flash of skin against dark armour. He stared at the gun intently, his brow furrowed as he laid on the crest of a hill overlooking the defensive line.

There were no guards, but that was to be expected. The turrets were automated and the slavers could not afford to spread themselves too thin by defending each one individually. Perhaps there were roving patrols but Shepard's team had not seen any. Instead, the lieutenant's eyes were fixed on the ground.

As he had anticipated, proximity charges lay half-buried in the chalky earth, fusion-based explosives judging by their size and shape. They had been planted sloppily, with many encased in shining plastic that caught the light from the turrets' muzzle flares in golden speckles. It was the mistake of an amateur, and one for which Shepard was grateful.

His fingers pressed into the blackened dust beneath him and he dragged himself down the slope. The grit scraped his armour and he cringed mildly at the noise, though he knew no one could hear it. Mason and the others had taken positions around him and would identify any patrols long before they could spot Shepard. He snaked along the ground, his movements fluid and easy, and he felt the tremor of the guns as tingling vibrations in his bones.

He set his jaw against them and emptied his thoughts. He could let nothing distract him, allow no slip in concentration. Just one error would rob him of an arm, or worse. Fusion mines in particular were a favourite of pirates and slavers, capable of inflicting debilitating wounds that even medigel could barely treat. He fought to keep the images from his mind as he slid down.

Thankfully, the proximity sensors would have difficulty in detecting something close to the ground. They were designed as such so they could not be set off inadvertently by inquisitive wildlife.

'See anything?' he murmured into his radio before spitting out a mouthful of dirt that had crept between his lips.

Mason responded calmly. 'Nothing yet. I can see Fairburn's assault force a couple of clicks beyond the guns. Looks like they're safe from the worst of the artillery. For now, at least.'

'They're not moving, though.' Shepard muttered. 'We could lose every single one of those hostages if Fairburn doesn't attack soon.'

'And more, but what's the alternative? You think he should send his men through all that?'

Shepard paused at the accusation in Mason's voice before answering firmly. 'I'm willing to bet he probably will anyway if we don't get these guns offline.'

The thought did not relieve Shepard's frustration. Every second spent crawling across the ground was one less spent rescuing those slaves. He felt doubt tug at him, coaxing him back towards the hill.

No. The decision was out of his hands, no matter how much it grated on his patience. Grinding his teeth together, he forced himself onward. He stopped as he came to the first proximity mine. Up close, he could see a small red light circling around its half-submerged edge. The thought of what it could do to him was harrowing, sending a wave of hollow weakness through his stomach, and it took all of his will to force his body into action.

Shepard brought his hands up carefully and wrapped them around the casing, twisting slightly without disturbing its position. 'Class-four,' he said aloud, angling his head to get a better view of the device. 'Looks like they were planted in a hurry. The detonator's out of position and the sensors aren't aligned.'

Mason snorted. 'No matter who's selling the guns to 'em, they're still the same lazy, half-assed slavers.'

It was only a moment's work for Shepard to disable the mine and he stood abruptly, the caked dust falling from his armour in thick sheets. He deftly planted a high-explosive charge at the base of the turret and the grey blocks blinked with tiny red lights as the device was armed.

'Charges planted,' Shepard confirmed. 'Everyone fall back. Once they blow someone's bound to drop by to see what's wrong.'

'What about the tracks, Shep?' Mason asked.

'No time to conceal. I doubt they'll look too closely, not with Fairburn's army on the horizon. If they do pursue, we'll handle it.'

'True, that. Nothing distracts a slaver more than a couple hundred marines charging their lines.'

Shepard smiled thinly and jogged back towards the hill. He would wait there for Kyle's signal before blowing the turret and his heart hammered in anticipation of what would come next.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

'Man down!'

The words chilled Kyle's blood. They were the last thing any soldier wanted to hear. It snapped him back into the moment, dragging him from the unthinking motions of training and instinct. Torfan's dark skies filtered back into his sight, stained by the constant flaring of the nearby turret.

Kyle opened his mouth and took in a breath of dusty air. He ached to raise his head, to see who had been hit but he buried the urge. Two more slavers remained and Kyle fell upon them from their flank, rising from a fold in the ground as his rifle tore into them, their shields useless at such a close range. The armour cracked audibly and the batarians fell. It was over in seconds, as always, but it took several more before he could trust the dead to remain still.

'Clear,' he said calmly, his head swinging towards the gun turrets. 'Rodriguez?'

The squad sniper answered instantly over the radio, her voice cool and indifferent. 'Negative contact.'

Taking in a deep, ragged breath, Kyle ran to where Lieutenant Stevenson lay clutching his leg. He was difficult to spot in his armour, a mere writhing shadow on the ground that blended into the rocky earth and only his pained motions gave him away as Kyle approached. The major frowned worriedly. A hole had been rent in the armour plating and the weave beneath was clearly visible, dark and wet with blood.

'Give him some medigel,' Kyle snapped to his fourth lieutenant, Pryor and with quick, practised movements he administered the clear paste to the wound from an applicator within his omni-tool.

Kyle watched as Stevenson bared his teeth, hissing in a sharp breaths of pain. Though the flesh would mend quickly, there was a chance the bone could have shattered, and always the danger of infection on alien worlds. The pain would disappear soon but until then, the searing agony would be barely tolerable. It did not need to be said that Stevenson's career hinged on the severity of his wound and when the youngest of the team tried to get up, only to be held by Kyle's hand on a shoulder.

'You won't be able to stand on that leg,' the major stated flatly. Stevenson opened his mouth to argue but Kyle raised a hand, interrupting him. 'But don't go thinking we'll send you away just yet. We can't call in a casevac either, so we're stuck as we are. Can you still hold a weapon?'

Stevenson's voice was hoarse with pain. 'I can still shoot, Sir. Just drop me in a good position and I'll hold my own.'

Nodding, Kyle turned to Pryor. 'Lieutenant, set the charges and watch out for booby traps. Just because we ran into this patrol, doesn't mean they haven't prepared for us. Work quickly but carefully.'

'Yes Sir.'

Pryor set off into a run towards the line of turrets behind them and Kyle almost swore as his suit radio chimed insistently. He checked the frequency and anger surged, held in check by his usual professionalism. He needed to keep the situation in hand, to think clearly despite his surging emotions.

Clearing his throat, he answered the call. 'What is it, General?'

Fairburn's voice crackled with interference but his impatience was clear. 'Major, what's your status? Those guns are tearing us to pieces!'

Feeling his own temper rise, Kyle kept his tone as calm as he could. 'Sir, we ran into an enemy patrol near the objective, eight foot-mobiles plus light patrol vehicle. The threat has been neutralised but we have one man wounded and immobile. There's no way we'll be able to continue at full strength.'

'_Damn_ it,' Fairburn cursed. 'What about your other team? What about Lieutenant Shepard? Is he done?'

'Shepard signalled the go code a few minutes ago, Sir. His team have laid their charges and are awaiting my order to detonate.'

'Get it done, Major. We have more than turrets to worry about.' The general paused and Kyle felt his throat tighten in dread anticipation. 'When you're done you have another objective. Beyond those guns lie three heavy infantry bunkers. We have no further information other than they're heavily fortified and are capable of seriously stalling our advance.'

Kyle closed his eyes. 'Sir, isn't that why you have the Makos? With armour support, those bunkers shouldn't pose a problem!'

'This isn't up for debate,' Fairburn bit back angrily. 'I want a hole punched through this line and I want it done _now_, before any more slavers have a chance to get off this rock.'

'But what about Shepard, Sir? He already warned us about a potential hostage situation. If we push too hard, too quickly there's a danger they'll murder everyone in their cargo holds. That's hundreds of civilians, Sir.'

'And if we don't stop these bastards escaping, where will we be then?' Fairburn argued. 'We'll be back to square one, constantly waiting for the next Elysium and the pirates still be roaming the sector at will, kidnapping even more colonists! Is that what you want, Major?'

Nearby, the artillery turret went up in a crack of bright flame. Kyle took in a draught of the warm, acrid air as the blast wave washed over them and his eyes searched the horizon in detached concentration. It was an impossible situation, he knew. To focus on rescuing those slaves would endanger the mission at large and he chafed at the decision he knew he had to make.

'What about the fleet, Sir?' he tried. 'Can't they do something? Can't they stop the pirates from taking off?'

He heard a slight clicking on Fairburn's end, as if he were shifting in his armour. 'Fleet Admiral Walsh has already made it clear he doesn't take the threat seriously. We won't get anything beyond the standard air support, if he allows us that much.'

'Shit,' Kyle spat. He paced back and forth on the spot and his heart was matched by the simmering beat of the artillery as it hammered the distant lines. Finally, he nodded slowly to himself. 'Solid copy, Sir. I'll get Shepard moving on the double.'

'The sooner the better.'

Fairburn's final words echoed in Kyle's mind, bringing up feelings he had been trying to bury. It had always been said that his greatest fault was letting concern for his men get in the way of his judgement. Certainly, he did not feel like the benefactor as he patched himself through to Shepard's radio.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Pulses of crimson light picked out the details of Kashek's face, highlighting the batarian's grim, square features. The bloody wash suited his mood perfectly. Before his eyes, on a screen that shifted constantly with enemy positions, drone flight paths and weaving threat prediction analyses, he watched the Alliance's attack on his stronghold.

'Here,' his deep voice rumbled as he stabbed a finger through the holographic display. 'There's another. Again, nowhere near the humans' main assault force.'

The solid orange symbol next to his finger blinked from existence and he withdrew, the fluid images warping back into position without pause. His fellow pirates streamed past, bellowing orders to subordinates strewn throughout the command bunker. It was a place rife with tension as they waited for the order to fight or flee and whole squads waited with rifles and heavy weapons ready, fear etched onto every face.

Kashek mumbled a vile oath and his lieutenants glanced at one another nervously. There were four in total, seasoned men who had plied the trade for decades alongside their brothers and they too watched the siege unfold. They had taken spoils across the breadth of the galaxy and were as close as brothers, though the kinship did little to soothe the brittle apprehension they all felt.

One of them looked up and visibly forced strength into his response. 'Perhaps it was a drone strike? We know they can evade our patrols.'

'Open your eyes, you idiot!' Kashek snapped. 'They just wiped out one of our patrols! Since when did the word 'evade' hold the same meaning as 'slaughter'?'

The junior slaver bowed his head, sinking back into silence and Kashek swore under his breath. 'That is just like you, Arbas, always missing the bigger picture. First communications go down, forcing us to rely on land lines, then our main supply convoy vanishes from existence. Now this.'

He traced between several points on his map with a finger, stopping occasionally to push a red marker into the display. He mumbled a string of thoughts to himself, ignoring the others completely. 'Two teams, or three with one acting in support?' He shook his head. 'No. If there were three, they would have seen our patrol coming long before they hit. Two teams, moving slowly towards the front lines. They hit the guns, creating a gap…'

Another of the lieutenants stepped forward. 'That would explain why the Alliance soldiers delay. They're waiting for these shadow teams to punch a hole in our defences.'

'Indeed,' Kashek replied, thoughtfully. He drew a line connecting all of the attack sites, and continued until his finger rested on one of three bright squares. 'And they will move on to attack Bunker Three, at the far east of our line. The humans will try and win this fight through diversion and sabotage instead of a straight fight.'

'Cowards,' another lieutenant spat.

Kashek brought his eyes up from the map, grinning in satisfaction. 'We knew the turrets would only delay them for so long. Alert all forward bunkers. Tell them the enemy will try and strike from the rear.'

One of his men turned away to bark orders into his communicator and Kashek strode away, leaving his officers to organise their men. One of them followed and Kashek glanced back at Arbas sourly as the lieutenant spoke after him.

'And what if the humans break through, Kashek? What then?'

The former Hegemony general bared his teeth in an unpleasant grin. 'Then we will have to show them the true consequences of their actions. Have your men gather the animals into the hold of my ship. Make sure their weapons are loaded and ready.'

The officer hesitated but nodded his understanding quickly, not wanting to show weakness. 'Right away.'

Kashek eyed him keenly as he scurried away. That one had never had backbone, but unlike the more competent of his men, Arbas was the only one to be linked to him by blood. Blood that could well be coating the stronghold floors, if the humans had anything to say about it. Still, the obligations of family were nothing if not a burden at times.

Pushing the thought aside, Kashek shrugged. It was out of their hands now, but at least the Alliance would shed their own share of blood for his moon.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Shepard's mouth was still dry with the fumes of the fusion explosives. The demolition charge used to destroy the turret had detonated the armed proximity mines close by, creating a series of crashes that churned up thick dust into the air. The cloud had blocked out the stars and Shepard ran a hand through his hair as he took a deep sip from the water tube built into his armour. Smoke rose out of the dust, a roiling black smudge above a twisted, burning stump of metal. The munitions inside the tower would continue to ignite for hours yet.

Shepard's eye drifted to Mason, who sat propped against a rock, wiping the dirt from his helmet visor. He could not begrudge his subordinate a little rest after their success. The team were tired but alert and though unspoken, there was a heady optimism in the air. They had all come through their N7 mission unscathed and the only fear now was each man and woman's as they wondered if they had made the grade.

Still, Shepard could not help but consider the hostages still in pirate hands. His fingers ran along the edges of his armour panels, worrying at them as his mind taunted him with the dirty, terrified faces of children and women.

Shepard's suit radio clicked and he snapped into awareness, shaking his head roughly as he thumbed the receiver. 'Yes, Sir?'

He frowned as Kyle's voice came to him in panting bursts, haggard and stressed. 'Shepard, change of plans. General Fairburn wants us to push further south and attack one of the main defence bunkers in his line of advance.'

Shepard blinked, incredulous. 'Say again, Sir?'

'It's as it sounds. Fairburn wants us to move on and soften the enemy positions in his path.'

Moistening his lips, Shepard frowned and raised a hand in disbelief. 'Sir, excuse me but what the hell? He has an entire company of marines at his disposal, along with armour support! How can he justify sending in two teams who've drawn more than enough attention to themselves already?'

'He's being cautious. He doesn't want to risk the Makos when there could be more surprises like those turrets waiting around the next corner.'

'So we have to fight his battles for him while-'

'Save it, soldier!' Kyle interrupted. 'I've got a wounded man here as it is, so believe me when I say that this isn't my choice. I don't like it any more than you do but I'm not about to disobey a direct order from the second-in-command of this battle group.'

Seething, Shepard pursed his lips and rose to his feet. He paced back and forth, his boots sending waves of dust over the grey rock while his breathing grew heavy with fury.

'Let me talk to him.'

Kyle paused, disbelief holding back his reply. '_What?_ Are you crazy, Shepard? I'm not letting you by-pass the chain of command, just to-'

Shepard didn't give him a choice. Opening his omni-tool, he tapped in several commands and the device chimed its assent. He did not hear Mason approach, his brow furrowed.

'What's going on, Shep?' he asked. His lips parted slightly as Shepard waved him off, turning his back as a new connection was established.

'General Fairburn?'

The voice that greeted him was as harsh and jagged as Torfan itself, and had to yell out above the din of shouts and gunfire. 'Who the hell is this? How did you get access to this frequency?'

'Sir, this is Lieutenant Shepard, leader of Major Kyle's second squad. Sir, the major has just relayed your orders.'

'What of it, Lieutenant? In case you hadn't noticed, we're engaged in a major fire fight at the moment and I need to focus on getting my men into position, not waste time with a soldier who should be confirming this with his immediate superior, _not_ the commanding officer of the God-damned task force!'

'I'm not confirming anything, Sir,' Shepard replied. His eyes flickered to the rear, fully aware of Mason's gaze on his back. 'I'm asking why the hell you're ordering us to move on that bunker when we have over a hundred civilians waiting to be secured in the main facility?'

The line quietened for a moment and Mason's jaw fell open in disbelief. He reached for Shepard's arm but it was snatched away and the lieutenant's face was unflinching as Fairburn responded, his tone thick with indignation.

'And why in God's name should I justify my orders to you?'

'Because the lives of my team are at stake if you're wrong. Right now the slavers are without comms, their supply lines have been cut and their turrets have been destroyed. If they didn't know our teams are here before, they sure as hell do now.'

He pressed his lips together as he considered his next words. He had to make the general see the folly in his thinking. 'Right now the only way they can strengthen their positions is with more men. More than Major Kyle's team and mine can handle. Sir, this is the time for us to move behind the slavers' lines while they're scrambling to close the gap, not engage the enemy overtly. It's suicide!'

'I'm going to make this very clear, Lieutenant,' Fairburn said slowly. 'If you don't get off this radio and start moving towards your objective, I will have you arrested for insubordination as soon as all this is over. Are we clear?'

Fairburn was not listening, that much was clear and Shepard's blood grew hot in his armour. He tried to remain calm and resumed his pacing, the motion going some way to clearing his head.

'Sir, you can arrest me right now if you feel the need but I can't accept these orders. This is the best chance we'll get. If we follow through with what you're suggesting, not only will we lose the hostages but every pirate on this moon will be moving in to make sure you don't break through that hole in their line. We might take the bunker, only to die long before you arrive.'

'And if we don't take that bunker as soon as we can, if my marines are delayed any longer than they need to be, more pirates will escape and six months down the line we'll have another Skyllian Blitz on our hands. We'll have to do this all over again! Now we know the Hegemony are funding their raids it's not a matter of stripping their suppliers or hitting their training camps. The more we kill today, the bigger a deterrent it will be to any batarian thinking about taking a slice of revenge on humanity. I expect you to accept that judgement, if nothing else.'

The wind blew hard, bringing with it the smell of the burning dead. The remaining slaver artillery fired, lighting up the sky and as the marines advanced, the first sounds of true battle began. It was a harrowing symphony, a constant, low rumble punctuated with the rattle of automatic weapons. It held a sorrowful note, one that Shepard recognised as he squeezed his eyes shut.

'I can't do that, Sir.'

'Damn it, Shepard!' Fairburn yelled. 'I'm giving you a direct order here. If you value your career, or those of your team, you _will_ obey, is that clear?'

Shepard's head twitched as he felt Mason grab hold of his arm angrily. His gaze snapped to the young man and he saw the intense look of alarm in Mason's eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he silently pleaded for Shepard to submit and with a pang of realisation, Shepard knew that if Fairburn were to punish him, his whole team would suffer. The months, the years of training Mason, Tajima, Webber, everyone had put into attaining the rank of N7 would be for nothing.

Shepard's fingers twitched, grasping at the air. The struggles of his fellow soldiers battled with other, much older loyalties and the stress of indecision made his body tremble. Letting out a deep breath through his nostrils, Shepard finally relented with a slow shake of his head.

'Yes, Sir. Clear.'

Fairburn cut the signal without further comment. The empty air was an adequate accompaniment to the numbness Shepard felt.

Relieved, Mason let go of his arm. 'You made the right call, Shep. I know it's hard, right? That's why we take orders, so it makes us feel a little better knowing the decision's not ours, no matter what happens. I want to save those people as much as anyone but it can't be done.'

Sniffing, Shepard nodded slowly. His reply was unconvincing as he stared blankly at the ground. 'Yeah. Yeah, I know.'

The radio clicked and Kyle spoke calmly, against Shepard's rightful expectations. 'I trust you have a good reason for what you just did, Lieutenant?'

'I do not, Sir,' Shepard replied immediately. He straightened and waited for Kyle's reaction. For an officer to go over the head of another was an act of mistrust that would barely be tolerated under ordinary circumstances, let alone in the field and he held himself steady in the face of what was to come.

Kyle waited for several moments before speaking again. 'I know what happened on Mindoir, Shepard. I know about your family but you can't let it become personal. The mission always comes first. You know that.'

'This still doesn't feel right, Sir,' Shepard protested. 'We're going into a heavily defended zone without support and for all we know the entire slaver army will be heading in to intercept us. All so Fairburn can cut down on casualties inflicted on his own men.'

'And I agree with you, but none of this matters. We have to find a way to take that bunker. Once we link up with Fairburn we can see about getting to those hostages.' He paused and Shepard's omni-tool blinked with the transfer of data. 'Your mission co-ordinates have been updated. Rendezvous at the the point specified and we'll scout the area.'

'Copy, Sir.'

The line cut out and Mason spoke immediately. 'What was that about Mindoir? That was some big slaver raid years ago, right? I remember hearing about it on the news net.'

The question seemed to sink into Shepard, eliciting no response. The howls of battle surrounded them, broken only by the shuffling of the other two members of the team as they joined Shepard and Mason, falling into a loose marching column without need for orders. After many long seconds of silence, Mason stepped forward.

'Shep?'

Blinking, Shepard looked at him but did not speak. Mason was younger than him by several years. He was an excellent marine; lean, hard and with a mind as sharp as glass. They had gotten on well enough during their time at ICT but Shepard had told no one of his home colony, or what had befallen it so many years ago. He finally answered, turning his gaze to the horizon and readying his pistol.

'It's nothing. Come on, we have to get into position.'

He strode on ahead, the ground beneath his feet crunching like glass. Staring after him, Mason shared a wary glance with his team mates before following, their unease palpable above even the threat of coming combat.


	3. Chapter 3

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Three: Turning Point***

Shepard had been watching the bunker for several minutes and already he could see the difficulty Fairburn's men would face in a frontal assault. Although he could not bring himself to agree with the general's strategy, the practical part of Shepard conceded that if the Infiltrators could take the fortification it would bring about a much swifter, cleaner end to the battle.

The bunker itself was a large collection of pillboxes and adjoining plascrete structures, pale and hard, like bones against the black rock. It was one of three guarding the main command centre further north but the other two were miles away, and the marines would be well out of their range as they made their advance.

Shepard's armoured glove was cold, bringing bumps to his skin as he wiped a trace of dirt from his cheek. His suit bore his weight as he lay on his stomach, observing the area from the crest of a shallow rise in the ground. His Avenger I sniper rifle was tucked into his shoulder, an extension of his body and it barely moved as he brought his eye to the scope again.

'Two man patrol, fifty metres west,' he murmured.

The pair of slavers were barely visible in the shadow of the bunker. The tiny lights on their armour had given them away when they moved, allowing Shepard time to warn Kyle as his team advanced slowly along a fold in the terrain. Mason and Webber had replaced Stevenson on Kyle's team and had joined the major in the assault team. They moved, slithering shadows hidden from sight as they crawled towards their goal. Only Tajima remained as Shepard's spotter and he lay further away, using his own rifle to keep a constant watch on the area.

Shepard reached up to press a small button on the side of his rifle. The scope image shifted and blurred as the targeting VI fought against his control but he persisted, and a blinking symbol at the bottom of the scope disappeared as the VI was disabled. He would not need its interference this time.

He raised his head to the scope once more and the world was reduced to a circle carved from black. A darkened doorway was set into the bunker wall, its control panel glowing bright red. The pair of slavers wandered casually with their rifles lowered, their path taking them alongside the wall and closer to Kyle with every step.

'They're heading towards you,' Shepard said quickly. His heart thumped as he watched the slavers closely, the sniper scope warping around the edges as his eyes strained. He resisted the urge to blink.

'Thirty metres and closing. Okay, they're turning south.'

Neither Kyle nor his team could speak. Though the pirates wore helmets, they would still pick up a careless voice through their audio receptors. It was better to be safe. Kyle would have to rely solely on the picture of the battlefield Shepard was feeding him.

The men stopped and Shepard's finger curled gently around the trigger. He did not want to fire. To lose the element of surprise now would be to throw away their main advantage and Kyle's team would be exposed outside the bunker. Only once inside would they stand a chance to take it.

One of the guards gestured wildly, chopping the air with his arm. Shepard released a breath and readied himself for the shot as he watched the man, waiting for his weapon to rise in Kyle's direction. Then, without warning the pirate turned away and his companion shook his head, as if in reaction to a bad joke.

Shepard exhaled deeply and closed his eyes in relief. 'All right, they're moving away. Their patrol route should take them at least two-hundred metres away, so you're good to go. There's a door at your twelve, locked by the looks of it.'

Kyle did not brave detection by speaking until he was certain the slaver patrol was a safe distance away. He and his team rose from the ground like black mist, soundless and slow.

'Keep an eye on them,' he replied. 'We'll have to run a decryption subroutine on that door and the light from our omni-tools could draw their attention.'

'Yes, Sir,' Shepard confirmed.

Emerging from the shadowed ground, Kyle's team moved to the bunker wall and Shepard held his breath as he saw the faint orange glow of an omni-tool. A stiff breeze pressed on him from behind, sending a chill across his skin that he did not feel. Finally, the light vanished and Kyle and his men entered the bunker.

Instantly, Shepard shifted position until he faced the slaver patrol once more. Their backs were still turned, and their idle pace took them even further away than they had travelled before. Affording himself a small grin, Shepard pressed two fingers to his ear.

'I'm moving now, before they decide to double back.'

Tajima's voice crackled in his ear. 'What are you talking about? I can't go anywhere with Stevenson in the shape he's in. Don't tell me you're thinking of going alone?'

'If this plan's going to work, Kyle will need a diversion, something to stop every slaver in that bunker falling on his position at once.'

'So what are going to do?'

Shepard glanced over at Tajima, seeing only the thin line of a distant rifle against the ground. 'I'm going to be the diversion.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

'I don't care how many of them are complaining!' Kashek bellowed. 'They've had it easy all these years, getting fat and rich from the spoils I gave them! It's time they did some of the work for a damn change!'

The batarian's voice had only grown stronger and more forceful with every passing moment of the crisis, and it filled the war room easily, cutting through the haze of muttered communications and marching feet. Most of his subordinates shied away from him deliberately as they went about their duties, desperate not to be singled out.

Arbas swallowed before answering carefully. 'Kashek, they're frightened, and with good reason. The Alliance has a whole division of their marines assaulting this base alone, and with the reports of our growing casualties at the other strongholds on this moon they're afraid they'll be walking into a bloodbath.'

Kashek stepped close to Arbas, close enough for the lieutenant to feel his master's breath hot on his skin. 'Of course they are,' he seethed. 'That's what they're there for! Why do you think the Hegemony gave us our weapons? Our supplies? Just to flee at sight of the first Alliance ship in our sky?'

For a moment, Arbas wrestled with himself, turning his head from Kashek so his cousin would not see his shame. He had been lured in by Kashek's promises, like so many others. The slave trade had brought them wealth, certainly, but never enough to retire comfortably. It had not been worth dying in a sour, parasite-ridden hole in a barren rock far from Khar'shan. Steeling himself, Arbas straightened and clenched his fists by his sides.

'You know as well as I do that these men don't care about the Hegemony. They didn't join the slave trade out of patriotism! You're asking them to meet their doom out there, Kashek, and you can't expect them to go gladly!'

Kashek's features softened. He took a slow step back and crossed his large arms across his chest, tilting his head in curiosity.

'Strange how you defend them, Arbas. I would like to say that if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a coward but we both know that would be a lie because I do know better. I know all too well. You show yourself now for what you truly are; a snivelling, wretched thing. Only my name has carried you this far. Only my name has given you the riches you've squandered until this moment.'

He reached out and snatched Arbas by the collar of his armour, yanking him forward. Arbas yelped but could not match Kashek's strength, and was powerless as his leader snarled into his ears.

'I will take back what you owe me, my cousin, by the Pillars I swear it. Now listen to me. You will lead our men to support that bunker the humans are foolishly moving to attack. You will make sure the humans pay for all the injustices they have inflicted upon us and if there is one word of dissent from any of the men you will execute them on the spot. Believe me, that is a trifle compared to what I will do to you should you shame me in this.'

He paused then, allowing a great, terrible silence to seep into the room. Even their men had paused in their tasks, too shocked at what they were seeing to continue. Finally, Kashek pushed Arbas away forcefully and muttered under his breath.

'You can succeed or die with honour. Either would be more than I ever expected from you.'

Stiffening, Arbas mustered what remained of his courage, enough to hold Kashek's venomous gaze. 'Then I hope my worthless life will be price enough for this cursed moon, cousin.'

He turned and stormed from the room, snapping out orders to his men as he marched.

Kashek's eyes followed him for a moment before his lips twisted angrily and he went back to viewing the tactical display. Torfan's jagged contours were slowly being consumed by a mess of red blocks from the south, edging their way relentlessly towards the solid shapes of Kashek's base compound. His eyes rested on a single collection of amber circles, connected with thick straight lines.

His judgement was correct, as always. The bunker had stopped reporting a short time ago, and with their communications tower already sabotaged the only way to explain the loss of contact was the physical cutting of their land lines; a standard action for Special Forces throughout the galaxy. Those responsible had to be the same ones who had wrought havoc behind his lines.

Kashek smiled cruelly. Arbas would catch them long before the Alliance army arrived to help.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Shepard made his way forward, stepping lightly as he ran. The ground beneath him was mostly loose dirt and his feet slipped, threatening to give him away at any moment with a careless stumble. He focused his mind and body, retreating into the concentration that had carried him through missions in both front-line combat and clandestine ops in the Traverse. It was a frame of mind he enjoyed. It gave no room to dwell on anything else.

He came to the bunker wall with his Kessler pistol drawn and held low while he pressed into the shadow. His forehead glistened with sweat and he quickly reached up to wipe it away with the back of a hand.

'Okay, they're coming back,' Tajima murmured into his radio. 'Good thing you can run a bypass with the best of them or I'd be worried right now.'

The comment did not make Shepard smile as it should have done. He instead dipped his head and crept along the wall until he found a door, identical to the one Kyle and his team had entered minutes ago.

Shepard risked a glance at the sky in time to see a great flash of blue rip the air. He had spotted the mass accelerator cannon earlier as it fired from a hidden casement out into the sky and though the odds of it hitting, let alone damaging an Alliance ship were minimal at best, Shepard kept its location fixed in his mind as he brought up his omni-tool. It would suit his purposes nicely.

He shielded the omni-tool's light with his body as best he could, moving only his hands to manipulate the bypass program. After only a few moments the door's panel blinked green and it slipped aside with a whisper. Without time for a final sweep, Shepard moved inside, releasing a breath as the door sealed silently closed behind him.

The interior of the bunker was cramped and cool, the narrow passageways constructed from bare, rough stone. He stalked ahead, his weapon in front of his eyes as he strained all of his senses. His heartbeat was little more than a dull thumping in his chest as it matched the salvos of the anti-ship cannon, now growing fiercer with each step.

Shepard's teeth flashed as he drew a difficult breath. His body was struggling against stress and fatigue but he fought against the weakness, knowing it would kill him if he let it. Nearing an open doorway, he sank into the shadows of the wall. The stench of heated element zero was strong and with infinite care he nudged his head around the corner.

The cannon was seated in a circular, open-roofed chamber that looked as if it had been carved from the bunker, not built within it. Five men stood inside, each preoccupied with either the enormous gun or its accompanying instrumentation. Shepard narrowed his eyes in dislike at a pair of helmetless batarians standing at the base of the cannon.

Lifting his hand, he checked one of his grenades, turning the silvery disc over with his fingers to ensure it had not been damaged. It took only a few seconds before he nodded to himself, satisfied.

Flicking his wrist, Shepard tossed the grenade and it slid across the ground, settling between the batarians. Though the gun's barrage hid the sound, the slavers caught the movement at the corner of their vision and opened their mouths in panic. It was too late for them to react.

The grenade blew with a sharp bang, sending a cloud of dust out of the doorway. Shepard turned away from it for only a second before slipping into the room, raising his pistol as he moved. The haze of dust and fumes was thick but Shepard's senses were well-trained.

A slaver staggered forward to his left and Shepard responded instantly, sending a pair of rounds cracking into his armour. The slaver hit the ground hard, crumpling into a ball. Shepard breathed in sharply as he stepped over the body and felt fingers crunch under his boot. He spotted the last man struggling to haul himself across the ground to where his rifle lay. There was no hesitation. He stepped lightly over to the crawling slaver and fired twice, shattering his head into bloody fragments.

The acrid smell of battle swam through Shepard as he raised his eyes back to the door, straining to hear if he had been discovered. He heard a commotion, but it was far away and unfocused. He still had time. Fingering his last demolition charge, he quickly slapped the explosive to the slaver cannon and ran, the short timer giving him speed beyond his own strength.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Kyle shook his head once, a short, sharp motion. Sweat flung from his brow in swollen drops, sparkling in the thick, red lighting before vanishing. The bunker's dark corridors were cool and roared with noisy ventilation fans and the muffled shouts of the defenders.

The tension was crippling and the sweat was almost too much for Kyle to bear. Again he snapped his head to the side to clear it from his eyes, unable to take a hand from his rifle for even a moment. He showed his teeth as he drew a breath and rounded a corner.

There was nothing to greet him but an empty corridor of stone with lengths of black cables snaking along the ceiling. Red lights were strewn amongst the wiringunevenly, as if discarded and randomly without care. Creeping forward, Kyle's nostrils flared as shadows whipped across the walls at the far end of the corridor. Holding up a clenched fist, he dropped to a knee and trained his Lancer straight ahead.

Three slavers emerged from the corner and Kyle fired without hesitation. His rifle jumped in his grip and three well-aimed bursts tore the armoured figures to pieces. They fell with loud thuds, their armour scraping against the ground as they fell. Kyle was moving before the last body hit the floor. His feet shifted in perfect balance, carrying him with smooth ease, reflected in Mason and the others as they followed.

Kyle chopped sharply with his right hand and Mason led Webber in that direction when they reached the end of the corridor. The remainder of the team went with Kyle, gingerly stepping over the bodies of the pirates he had slain.

No one spoke. They knew what they had to do and had their targets, given by Kyle on their way to the bunker and based on nothing more than rudimentary intel forwarded by Fairburn's recon drones. There were too many variables, far more than Kyle liked but such was the nature of Special Forces work. Planning and precision would result in a flawlessly-executed mission but just as important were improvisation and instant decision-making. The saying 'no plan survives first contact with the enemy' was playing over and over in Kyle's mind.

He heard raised voices and knew in an instant someone was coming to investigate the noise. Two more slavers, slim men dressed in light, scuffed armour, darted from a doorway to Kyle's right and were cut down in an instant. A chorus of shouts followed and Kyle swore inwardly as he scanned the room from which they had come.

Bunks and lockers filled it while tables lay in the room's centre. Discarded issues of illicit magazines had been roughly piled next to empty drinks containers while the table's surface was stained with lines of murky red and white, a mixture of drugs that pirates took to pass the long periods of inaction.

Kyle's lips twisted at the mixed blessing. Narcotics made men sluggish while also lending them powers of endurance and resistance to pain that shamed all the best genetic modifications. Turning sharply, he made his way gingerly back into the corridor as more yells of alarm rose all around him. They were everywhere.

More shadows flitted against the far wall and the voices grew closer. He ordered his team to pause and once again he took a knee, waiting. The noise increased and Kyle ran his tongue across his upper lip, tasting the sharp salt of his own sweat. He squinted, ready for the first of them to come.

Footsteps scraped the stone floor and he tensed in anticipation of the first, vital seconds.

The first glint of armour speckled in Kyle's vision before a loud thud rocked the ground beneath him. Startled, he lifted his head and watched open-mouthed as the pirates cursed loudly and turned back. Another explosion boomed through the bunker, this time quaking the ground under Kyle's knees.

He grinned subtly, knowing both who and what was responsible.

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Fairburn looked sternly at the young marine who had run nearly half a mile over rugged stone hills to bring him the report.

'Are you sure about this, Corporal?'

The man's helmet bobbed with certainty. 'Yes, Sir. Drone scans picked up strange signatures coming from the main compound so Captain Hendrickson had us set up on Hill 472. Recon used it in the run-up to the operation.'

'I know where it is,' Fairburn snapped. He ran a hand over his skull impatiently. 'Tell me something I can use.'

The marine continued after a moment's pause. 'The enemy are assembling their main force about a click southeast of the command bunker. There are hundreds of them, Sir. A whole battalion at least but they're not digging in. Captain Hendrickson believes they're going to march south to reinforce the defence bunkers beyond the artillery line.'

Fairburn chewed his lip thoughtfully. The marine column had made its way past the batarian-supplied turrets but the slaver bunkers still lay a considerable distance from them. Even if he force-marched, the Makos would still be at risk. For a moment the general winced bitterly at the decision to bring them to Torfan at all. With the moon's harsh terrain and the unexpected appearance of the turrets, the armour had proven only a hindrance to his forces.

'Get back to Hendrickson,' he said, nodding back the way the marine had come. 'Tell him to keep eyes on that command bunker in case it's a feint. We still don't have accurate numbers here and the last thing I want to do is incorrectly assume the slavers are throwing everything they've got at us.'

'Yes, Sir.'

The marine jogged lightly away, signalling to another pair of soldiers who had accompanied him. Fairburn watched them depart and a heavy tension settled in his gut. Thanks to Admiral Walsh's tactics they had precious little intelligence to go on and he eyed the distant, dark peaks with a glimmer of trepidation. Any one of them could hide yet another Hegemony-sponsored surprise, just waiting for the column to lumber into position. He tried to shake the fears from his mind but they wore on his nerves, eating away at them like a slow acid.

'Sir!'

The shout came from Fairburn's comms officer and the general tensed with irritation. 'What is it now, Lieutenant?'

'Sir, it's a transmission from Admiral Walsh. He's demanding a sitrep, Sir.'

'Oh, now he's demanding a sitrep?' Fairburn spat. Glancing aside for a moment, he summoned the little patience he had left. 'Very well, patch it through to my suit radio.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Fairburn's suit fizzled with static and the slow drone of Walsh's voice came through, woefully intact. 'General, putting aside the fact that you landed your forces ahead of schedule, against my desires no less, I assume you've made headway?'

'You can't tell from up there?' Fairburn bit back forcefully.

'Our sensors are being scrambled from Torfan's surface,' Walsh replied, ignoring the barb. 'Whatever equipment they have, our techs believe it's far more advanced than what pirates should have access to.'

Fairburn gave a grudging nod. 'I can confirm that. We've encountered heavy defence guns and equipment supplied by Batarian State Arms. The whole damn moon reeks of the Hegemony.'

'That is…' Walsh trailed off worriedly. 'That is unexpected. Initial scans showed no sign of heavy fortifications beyond the paltry defence bunkers already present. Have you sustained casualties? What's the status of those guns?'

'Still active, though our Infiltrator teams sabotaged two of them, opening a gap for the column. We only have a single bunker and a battalion of slavers standing between us and the main command compound.'

'Hold on, General. The batarian involvement changes things. We can't advance until we know exactly what we're dealing with. I want you to hold your position and await further orders.'

Fairburn's teeth flashed as he smiled bitterly, shaking his head at the irony of having his own doubts mirrored. He had not realised how cowardly they sounded until they had been spoken aloud.

Coming to a decision, he forced a grim tone. 'Not a chance, Walsh. We've come this far and I'm not letting it come to nothing.'

Walsh's reply was edged with anger. 'That's not exactly the tone I'd expect from you, General. I know better than to expect obedience from you but I at least expect a little common sense. This isn't up for discussion; pull back and hold your ground!'

The general sucked in a deep breath, his scarred skin folding as he looked up to the bright planet watching them all. 'It's not that simple. I've got a team behind enemy lines assaulting the defence bunker in our path. If we pull back now they'll be overwhelmed by the army marching from the north.'

'What? Why the hell are they-' Walsh stammered.

The feeble response cut loose the final threads of Fairburn's temper and he snarled into the radio. 'They're part of a rapid push into enemy territory though from what I've seen, I don't think you remotely understand that concept. It's called fighting a war, Walsh and right now you're stopping me from doing that. Unless you have any useful intel for me to work with, with all due respect, I suggest you get off the line.'

'I swear,' Walsh seethed. Astonishment had bled the emotion from his words and Fairburn could almost see his quivering lips. 'I swear to God, Fairburn, if you don't give up this madness and return to the staging area I'll make sure you never hold a command again, do you understand?'

Fairburn snorted and hammered at the radio control, cutting the link instantly. He looked up at the comm officer, who could only stare back, stunned.

'Get all platoon commanders on the horn,' the general snapped. 'We're taking that bunker come hell or high water.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

The last knot of defenders had barricaded themselves in the main pillbox, unable to cope with the confusion of being attacked from two directions. Either their leaders had been killed in the first minutes of the assault, Shepard reasoned, or they were as undisciplined and clueless as the Alliance liked to think they were.

The cold corridors around him clattered with panicked fire and frenzied cries. The batarians' deep, throaty roars were easy to identify but they were answered by others. There were females, likely of the blue-skinned asari race and the more nasal tones of salarians. Though it was difficult to tell under their nigh-identically-shaped armour, Shepard was willing to bet some of the men he'd killed had been human too.

Thin strips of red light washed over his face as he ran. He tried to keep his steps light but the pitch of battle intensified and he knew the pirates had engaged Kyle's team. Their enemy thought they were being attacked by a much larger force but the illusion would not last forever.

A large doorway lay before him and he sank into the shadows at its side, only needing a moment to silently identify five slavers crouching behind a row of sturdy shipping crates. Their backs were turned as they fired at another entrance to the room, leaving themselves completely exposed.

Shepard made the most of his valuable seconds of surprise. He dared not follow his instincts and advance into the room for fear of being shot by Kyle in the confusion. Instead he took careful aim and squeezed off a burst of rounds from his Kessler.

The first two shots pounded into the helmet of the nearest slaver, a lithe asari who let out a short cry of fear before slumping to the ground. Her nearest comrade yelled in shock before more slugs hammered into his chest, breaking his shields and smashing him from his feet.

Their deaths sent the remaining three into a frenzy of terror. One tried barking orders to the others but Kyle read the dip in fire instantly and Shepard saw him appear from the doorway to send a volley into the yelling slaver. The others could only throw down their weapons in an attempt to surrender but they too were quickly and ruthlessly dispatched. There was no time for prisoners, nor enough men to watch them.

Shepard moved into the room, putting another round into the last slaver's body at close range. Kyle had entered with him and after a taking a moment to ensure there was no further threat he lowered his rifle, grinning slyly.

'I take it we have you to thank for the fireworks?'

'I figured you could use every advantage,' Shepard replied, returning the smile easily. 'Still, it was too easy. There was no attempt to rally or block our advance, no co-ordination.'

'Maybe we took down all their officers,' Kyle ventured, echoing Shepard's own thoughts.

The lieutenant shook his head. 'That would be the kind of luck I just don't believe in, Sir. I think we haven't run into the leaders yet, and these guys were just holding the fort until they arrived.'

Kyle said nothing further and glanced back to take in the state of his team. Tajima had moved up, carrying the injured Stevenson across his shoulder. The rest of his team looked as he would expect, tired and doing their best to remain alert. Mason in particular had fought hard and the young man had developed a limp he tried hard to conceal.

Sucking gently on his bottom lip, Kyle turned back to Shepard. His lieutenantwas no more than a shadow against the blue-tinted slit of the pillbox at his back. It made it difficult to talk to him.

'We're done here. Orders from Fairburn are to hold this bunker until relieved, no matter what. Get some rest while you can. I'll set Tajima to look out for anyone approaching from the north.'

'Sir,' Shepard began, and Kyle saw the whites of his eyes glint as he looked down, guiltily. 'With respect, I'm not staying. Once they realise this bunker's been taken the slavers will know how close we are to their main compound. The hostages won't last long after that.'

'Shepard,' Kyle responded, his own regret weighing down his voice. 'I know what you're thinking but I can't spare the manpower for a rescue mission. We only have seven effectives, including you and a whole bunker to cover. If I let even one man go it'll compromise our defence. You're my best operative and I need you here, not chasing down slaves.'

'I wasn't asking, Sir.'

The words hit Kyle like a hammer blow. His lips parted and his features slackened in disbelief. 'Shepard, think carefully about what you're saying. If anyone finds out you left your post it'll be the end of your career. It might even land you in prison. Are those people worth that price?'

The major's voice was calm, not angry and yet the threat was as clear as it could be. It chilled Shepard's skin even more than the frigid atmosphere of the barren moon they fought over. With an effort of will, he nodded once.

'If they're not, then we wouldn't be here in the first place.'

Kyle looked at him for a few moments before turning his head. He spoke, unable to keep all the bitterness from his tone. 'If anyone can do it, Shepard, it's you. Just get going, and be careful.'

Shepard did not show his gratitude, knowing there was little point. He jogged back into the dark halls and Kyle stared at the ground, his mind turning to think of a way to compensate for his loss.

'Sir,' Mason said, stepping forward. His eyes were wide at what he'd just witnessed and he gestured sharply in Shepard's direction. 'What the hell did you just do? We needed him here! If the slavers attack in force we're 'gonna be overrun long before Fairburn arrives with backup! Why did you let him go?'

Kyle continued to gaze at the ground, little more thank inky blackness. When he finally replied, his voice was blank of emotion. 'Because he was right.'

_**~~ME:DS~~**_

Alone once more, Shepard struggled to crush the doubts that had started to creep into his mind. He passed into the cool shadows of Torfan's hills with the bunker a dim speck at his back, and he emptied his thoughts until all that was left were nagging fears. Perhaps Kyle was right. The team was already a man down and needed everyone they could get.

Wincing, Shepard pressed on, the dusty earth shifting underfoot as he scaled another craggy peak. The land beyond was as featureless as the rest of the moon, with only the occasional thrusting formation of black rock to break the horizon. Still, Shepard knew that somewhere beyond he would find his destination and he kept his eyes on the distant rises as he descended the hill.

Torfan's gravity was stronger than that of a human planet. Shepard had never been to Earth but it was common knowledge that colonies were selected for their similarities to the home world, gravitational levels among them, but Torfan was no such place. Though he hadn't noticed at first, after the hours of running and fighting Shepard's muscles had begun to ache with a force he hadn't felt since his ICT selection days. He realised with grim certainty that his body was beginning to reach its limit. From now on it would be his mind, his will that would carry him forward.

Shepard came to a stop. He could hear something on the wind, though he couldn't be certain what it was. The noise grew from a whisper into a low rumble, and quickly he dropped to his stomach, pressing himself into the dark ground. His entire body began to vibrate and he frowned as small stones were shaken loose and tumbled past him.

The slavers emerged from the crest of the hill ahead, first a few, then a dozen. Their helmets caught the red light of Torfan's planet as they picked their way slowly across the land and Shepard's eyes widened at their numbers. More came, until the entire hillside was a tide of shining armour. The bass growl in Shepard's stomach intensified as three armoured vehicles moved over the summit, their large guns rearing up for a single, long moment before plunging down the slope.

Shepard ground his teeth and closed his eyes. He ignored every instinct that urged him to run. To move even a single muscle would be suicide at that moment. He trusted the shadow to hide him.

The first of the slavers passed by only a few feet away, close enough for Shepard to hear the crunching footsteps above the thunder of the tanks. Shepard held his breath. It was like fire in his lungs. More ambled past, relaxed and secure in their numbers. There were too many for Shepard to count and a cold dread settled on him as he realised they were heading in Major Kyle's direction.

An age seemed to have gone by before the last of the slavers disappeared from sight and Shepard dared to rise. He moved cautiously and slowly, unable to tear his eyes from the dust rising from beyond the hills at his back. Before he continued, he said a silent prayer for Kyle and his men.


	4. Chapter 4

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Four: Sacrificial Lambs***

Major Kyle stared out of the bunker. The bare plain was almost flat, with only the hills beyond to cast long shadows over the dusty ground. The land was a perfect killing field, without any cover to spoil the featureless terrain.

'We're set,' Mason murmured at his shoulder, his limping steps scraping as he settled next to the major. 'Rodriguez is on the roof and he's reporting smoke trails the size of Wyoming beyond those hills.' He nodded towards the battlefield. 'He doesn't know how many are out there but I think we're in for a fight.'

Kyle bobbed his head but did not answer as his eyes moved from side to side, scanning the land. He went through the plan in his head; the sniper Rodriguez on the roof, with Tajima and Webber covering the western approach and Pryor and himself watching the north. The wounded Stevenson had fiercely insisted that he accompany Mason to guard the east and Kyle had not argued. In the end, they had propped the stubborn lieutenant against the wall with a rifle to cover the bunker entrance. A hero, Kyle thought to himself. A hero among heroes.

Finally, the major shifted. 'Is everyone ready?'

'Ready as we can be,' Mason replied, running a glove over his sweat-dappled scalp. 'Pryor's shields haven't been charging right since he detonated that artillery charge earlier. Some 'kinda interference, but from the detonator frequency or the explosion, I don't know.'

'No,' Kyle said, slowly. 'I mean, are they _ready?_'

A frown flickered over Mason's brow and he licked his lips. He looked aside and saw the wisps of dust rise over the nearest hills. It was then he knew what Kyle meant. 'Yes, Sir,' he answered. 'We know what's coming and if it's our time then so be it. We won't let you down, Sir.'

Kyle smirked humourlessly. 'Let _me_ down? I'm not worthy of that kind of devotion. I only ask one thing.' He looked at Mason, his dark eyes like stone. 'As one soldier to another, Lieutenant. Whatever happens, don't let them take me alive. Promise me.'

The cold reality settled on Mason. If the batarians captured them then torture and slavery would surely follow. There would be no chance to see their families again, no possibility of mercy. The batarians did not take human prisoners of war. He swallowed dryly and replied. 'Of course, Sir.'

Without a further word, Kyle again faced the plain. At his feet, a piece of debris began to shake, rattling against the floor with a metallic chime. It intensified and other, heavier objects joined it, trembling on the ground in a fit of noise and movement.

Kyle felt the vibrations through his boots. They made his bones tingle. He heard the sound then; a steady, rhythmic rumble that he had known since first joining the military. Marching feet. Hundreds of them.

He hefted his rifle and his voice was harsh, replacing the thoughtfulness of moments before. 'Take position and let me know how you're doing - radio silence won't count for much now.'

Mason trotted off and Lieutenant Pryor joined Kyle in aiming his weapon at the distant ridge line. Beyond it, the thick smog of dust had grown larger and Kyle's stomach felt hollow at the sight. He knew then how large the slaver army must be but there was no time for regrets or reservations.

The first helmets appeared like distant, glimmering stars over the ridge. They numbered in the dozens already and they were only the first. Before long, the hillside swarmed with loose ranks of slavers in tattered, mismatched armour. They marched confidently, awaiting with apparent calm the first signs of contact from the bunker ahead. They were probably expecting to find it deserted, Kyle reasoned. Surely no enemy would stand and face such overwhelming force?

Kyle thumbed his suit radio. 'Rodriguez, go loud.'

The snap of a Mantis rifle shattered the air. Even at long distance, Kyle saw a slaver fold to ground and the army froze as one; they had clearly not anticipated resistance. He knew their confusion would not last long and he roared his orders. 'All of you, open fire! Give them everything you've got!'

The bunker erupted with light and sound. Blue tracers tore into the slavers, the powerful mass effect-propelled slugs easily carried over the battleground with no loss of force. The Infiltrators fired long bursts, scattering their shots to cover maximum ground but excepting the snipers, there was no way they could accurately hit their targets at such a great distance. Suppression was their only option.

_Come on,_ Kyle urged as his rifle chattered beneath him. _Break, damn you!_

The slavers returned fire then, but it was ill-organised and panicked. The slugs cracked against the bunker in a pattering trickle, with nowhere near the hammering force of the humans' fusillade.

Kyle saw the massed infantry hesitate as more bodies hit the ground. They were only distant shapes to him, like small, pale worms that writhed and grew still. They did not have faces yet. They were only targets and he poured his concentration into keeping them away.

The others were doing well, he saw. Tajima and Mason's teams were pounding the hills with maniacal fervour, as if their malice were poured into every shot. Tajima's sniper rifle ripped the air with sporadic thuds, and each round brought another of the distant figures to its knees.

The clatter of gunfire muted his senses. The flashes that lit the sky were barely noticed. All that mattered were the shuddering rhythms of his rifle. The only things in the galaxy that existed were the men Kyle had to kill, just to see the next hour of his life.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Shepard slowed his breathing. The last rise had stolen his wind and he angrily succumbed to it, having no choice but to hit the ground in exhaustion. Even then he moved stubbornly on, digging his fingers into the chalky ground and pulling himself up the slope. Each breath was an agony and only discipline kept his voice to a hushed growl as he forced his body on.

Finally, the hill levelled out beneath him and he slumped, panting as the wind moaned around the surrounding peaks. At that height it formed a chilling choir, the voices as empty and soulless as the moon itself.

Shepard closed his eyes. He focused his will, as he'd been trained to do. The body was a machine; the mind would take it further than it could ever go on its own. Grimacing, he planted his hands in the earth and pushed himself upright with a loud grunt. He looked at what lay below him and for a moment, all the pain vanished.

The white buildings of the slaver compound stood clustered in the lee of that very hill like pale shells, each one thickly-walled and sturdy. Large impact craters littered the valley around them, spots of black in the grey wastes. Shepard shook his head, feeling a fresh wave of anger at the officers who'd thought the naval bombardment was a good idea. If anything, they had given the enemy plenty of holes to hide in.

Putting aside his frustration, Shepard unhooked the sniper rifle from his back and flattened himself against the summit. He pressed his eye to the scope and calmed his tortured lungs just enough to steady his sights.

The compound was small, but that was to be expected. The true base would stretch for hundreds of metres underground like an ant's nest, its layout a mystery to any invader. It was the perfect defence for the ill-trained slavers. They held all the advantages.

Cursing silently, Shepard pulled back from the scope and pursed his lips. He was close but the hostages' lives would not be guaranteed unless he could get marines into that compound. Knowing what he had to do, he reluctantly opened a comm channel.

It took only a moment to establish the connection. 'Shepard?' Fairburn asked, his heavy voice thick with disbelief. 'What in God's name are you contacting me for? Where's Major Kyle?'

'He's holding the objective, Sir, as ordered,' Shepard answered. He paused, bracing himself for what was to come. 'Sir, I'm looking at the slavers' main base as we speak. The hostages are being held somewhere inside. I left Major Kyle and my team of my own volition. I'm going to retrieve those captive slaves but I'll need reinforcements; a platoon at least, with armour support.'

Fairburn's response was deceptively calm. 'Lieutenant, I won't explain to you how much shit you're in right now. You not only violated a direct order from me but now you can add deserting your squad to the rap sheet. You're looking at a discharge as it stands.'

'Sir, you're not listening to me,' Shepard said, his voice low and intense. 'Lives - innocent human lives - count on us hitting this base hard and fast. I don't care if you put me in front of a court martial when all this is over. All that matters is getting those people out before the batarians decide to make a break for it. We need to act now.'

The answer was a furious snap in his ear. 'You're a piece of work, Shepard! Even if I had the manpower to spare, what makes you think I'd put them under the command of a man who leaves his post on a whim?'

It was a fair question but Shepard would have none of it. He narrowed his eyes and his voice was fierce. 'Sir, I'd expect you to do it for the sake of over a hundred civilians, not myself! _This_ is why we're here, _this_ is our objective. Respectfully, if you don't give me the men I need to rescue those hostages then this, all of this, will be a failure. Every man we've lost on this moon will have died for _nothing!_'

The wind howled behind Shepard, pressing into his back and carrying his words away into silence. He laid motionless, awaiting a response as the skies lit up to his rear. Major Kyle had made contact, he realised with a pang of guilt. The enormous slaver army had fallen upon a mere seven men and Shepard knew he should have been there to help.

'The mission is what I _say_ it is, Shepard. Your opinion means nothing. As of right now I'm stripping you of your rank and when we reach that base you _will_ be taken into custody.'

The words hit Shepard like a slug to the chest. He had sacrificed everything and abandoned his team to die. It was a fact he could not deny but he did not feel fear, or even regret. In fact, he felt a great pressure lift from him. Everything had been made clear. There was nothing left to think about now other than those hostages.

Wisps of dust rose as he climbed to his feet and started down the hill towards the base. The entire slope was bathed in thick shadow and he slipped into it like a pool of dark water. Vanishing from sight, he felt cleansed by the darkness. He knew the line was still open and he murmured quietly to Fairburn before closing the channel.

'God have mercy on you if I fail, Sir.'

He cut comms and stowed away his rifle. It clicked and whirred as it compressed itself for storage and after hooking it back onto his suit, Shepard drew his pistol in a single motion. He broke into a loping run, his movements sharp and his face blank of all emotion as he descended on the slaver compound.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The space above Torfan was littered with ships, each one a glinting speck against the blackness. Admiral Walsh could name each and every one of the vessels on the LADAR readout by their profile alone. The frigate _Agincourt_, on loan from the Second Fleet, was technically identical to the _Kursk_ but Walsh knew the Nav Officer Lieutenant Pressley had insisted on an additional targeting matrix for their GARDIAN system to compensate for slaver interference: a lesson they had brought with them from Elysium. It changed the outline of the Agincourt ever so slightly, just enough to give it a distinctive look.

Walsh smiled at his own knowledge as he paced the _Shasta's _CIC. The crew kept up a constant buzz of activity, calm and professional, just how Walsh liked it. He had always run things smoothly and neatly, and the military always valued an adept administrator.

A young ensign saluted smartly as she approached. 'Sir, Admiral Hackett is waiting for you in the briefing room. He says it's urgent.'

Walsh scowled slightly. Hackett was one of those officers who rose through battle and aptitude in war. They were rare but Walsh still despised such men. To him, they were brutes who claimed their ranks through force, generally at the expense of better-bred men who could manage a fleet much more efficiently.

'Thank you, Ensign,' he said before turning stiffly and making his way to the briefing room, where the ship's FTL comms terminal lay blinking, awaiting his arrival. It was a simple console mounted on a railing that ringed five large, circular projectors and the centre one came to life with a crimson glow, making Walsh blink.

Admiral Hackett materialised in front of him, his flat features twisted by the scar that ran from his upper lip all the way up the side of his face. His years of service had been long and hard, and it showed in his weathered skin, yet Walsh knew each line stood for a battle won and a commendation earned. In spite of his age, Hackett was every bit as strong as when he was twenty. Walsh hated him for it.

Hackett's voice rumbled from the terminal's speakers in a throaty drawl. He sounded furious. 'Admiral, just what the hell do you think you're doing?'

The blunt question took Walsh aback and he ran a nervous finger under his collar before replying. 'Excuse me, Sir, but is there a problem?'

'From Elysium to Terra Nova, all I'm hearing are reports that Torfan is still holding strong and our marines haven't even pushed past the first line of defence. Are those reports accurate?'

It was a rhetorical question, Walsh knew. Hackett would not ask such a question without good reason.

'Th-there are several factors we didn't anticipate, Sir,' Walsh stammered. 'The slavers had an advanced weapons system in place, we couldn't have possibly-'

'Then what in God's name were your recon drones doing?' Hackett pressed. 'Your forward observation teams, your pathfinders? Every inch of that terrain should have been scouted. Instead you wasted precious time with a futile orbital bombardment!'

Walsh straightened defensively. 'Sir, I made the decision that would involve the least loss of life. I believed caution would be wiser-'

Hackett interrupted again, 'And thanks to your hesitation, our men are bogged down and spread thin across the whole moon.' The admiral gave Walsh a hard stare. 'Believe me, Walsh, the last thing I wanted to do was call the shots on this thing from halfway across the galaxy but you leave me no choice. I will _not_ have Torfan become a byword for military disaster. As of right now I want you to move all available battalions to reinforce General Fairburn. Give him whatever he wants, whatever he needs to get the job done. Is that clear, Admiral?'

Walsh glared at him, helpless. His fury was too great for words but he swallowed it all to salute meekly. 'Clear, Sir.'

Hackett did not bother with a farewell. His image faded from the comm projector and the room grew dark once more.

His nostrils flaring, Walsh made his way back to the CIC, his mind already awhirl with thoughts of how he could break the news to Fairburn without losing face.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Kyle was stricken when he saw Mason limping towards him. The lieutenant was covered in a slick of blood that obscured half his face with even more glistening wetly as it seeped from a hole in his shoulder.

'Seal the door,' Kyle ordered him, though it pained him to say it. He needed rest but the slavers had been relentless after the shock of the initial resistance. Even now, hundreds of bodies cooled on the rocky field outside and still they kept coming.

'I have to go back!' Mason urged. His voice was strangled with pain and there were bubbles of bloody froth at the corners of his mouth.

'Stevenson's gone!' Kyle shouted back fiercely. 'Throwing your life away won't change that!'

A stray round found its way into the bunker, chipping a piece of masonry from the ceiling. Neither man flinched.

'Seal the door,' Kyle repeated. 'Use the demo charge and collapse the tunnel if you have to but we need to funnel them away from our right flank. If they surround us then-'

'Sir!' Pryor cut in, his helmet turning in Kyle's direction as his rifle lit up his grey armour in flares of blue. 'You'd better see this!'

Kyle released his hold on Mason and strode to the bunker window. 'Oh God...'

Like the heads of malevolent beasts, the gun turrets of four batarian tanks reared up over the distant hills. Each one was an ugly, stained brute, thick with sloped plating and jagged accoutrements. They were far heavier than the armour Kyle's team had destroyed earlier in the convoy and only heavy firepower would take them out. Firepower they sorely lacked.

The realisation quickly dawned on Kyle and he turned to cry out a warning. It came too late.

Kyle closed his eyes and threw himself to the ground as a ball of fire and dust swallowed Pryor, choking off his scream before it could leave his lips. The explosion rocked the pillbox, and Kyle rolled onto his stomach to avoid the searing debris. He still felt burning shards of stone and metal in the collar of his armour as he struggled to his feet.

'Pryor?' he called out hoarsely. No reply came and Kyle looked about for the lieutenant's body, his face slack with shock.

The room was a fog of lingering dust, stained red by the light of Torfan's planet. It filtered through in shafts from the great hole that had been punched through the bunker wall. Piles of rubble littered the floor and everything that had not been bolted down had been flung against the far wall.

Kyle knew Pryor was lost, his body lying somewhere beneath the dirt and grime. Numbly, he turned on the spot and sought out Mason, reaching up to his ear as he staggered on.

'Tajima, Webber, Rodriguez,' the major said. His voice was over-loud, thrumming in his ears. Or was it because he couldn't hear anything else? A high-pitched squeal drowned it all out and he could only blindly assume his men were listening.

'Enemy tanks engaged,' he said, each word an effort. His chest heaved and a thin trickle of blood found his eyes, making him blink. 'Everyone...fall back. Repeat, fall back to the inner bunker...do everything...have to stall...'

He slumped forward in a moment of weakness, but he did not fall. He could not. He was tired and his body was failing him, but to collapse now would be to die. It was then he caught sight of Mason.

The armour glinted dully from under a blanket of dirt, the shape just about recognisable as human. Kyle clawed at the debris, lifting off pieces of twisted, blackened metal and glittering dust until he could get his hands under Mason's arms.

Kyle took the weight and pulled. His teeth flashed in the grimy darkness and he cried out in agony as something spasmed in his leg. He did not give up. With a loud scrape, Mason came free.

Panting, Kyle dug into the last, dying embers of his strength and heaved Mason across his shoulders before stumbling ahead. His feet dragged across the ground, cutting lines in the thick dirt. He barely felt his legs at all. All his senses were focused purely on retreat. From the depths of the bunker, his team would have to hold the slavers off. Kyle desperately hoped Fairburn was near.

**~~ME-DS~~**

A shrill chime cut through the clattering din of rifle fire and it took several moments for Fairburn to notice it. The slavers had established several OPs overlooking the main bunkers and their elevated positions in the surrounding hills had turned the journey into a maze of snipers and mortar barrages. He keyed his suit radio eagerly, desperate to hear some progress. 'Fairburn.'

He clenched his fist in annoyance at the sound of Admiral Walsh's smug tones. 'Well, General, it looks like you did something right in a past life. Admiral Hackett has given me authorisation to pull resources from other battalions to focus on that defensive line. I've updated your command interface with those assets, including fast air and orbital strike.'

Walsh paused then, though why, Fairburn could not tell. Perhaps he was expecting thanks. If so, Fairburn was happy to disappoint him.

'Hackett wants this thing won quickly,' Walsh continued. 'Use everything you can to get it done. That is all.'

The line crackled as it closed and Fairburn's lips spread into a broad grin. The good news was long overdue. His smile only widened as he brought up his omni-tool and saw for himself over a dozen new callsigns added to his command. He wasted no time.

Immediately, he opened a channel, 'Sam, get the Twelfth on the horn and have them circle around and hit our target from the rear.' He paused and spat out a wad of slimy dust. 'Kyle and his boys are knee-deep in shit right now and I want the enemy's line of retreat cut before we get there.'

'Solid copy,' the voice said clearly from the other end. 'What about Lieutenant Shepard, Sir?'

Fairburn became still at the name. 'What about him?'

'He has eyes on the enemy's main base, right, Sir? I can scramble three platoons from the Tenth to rendezvous with Shepard. We also have drone and Lightstar support standing by.'

The general did not respond. He gazed coolly at the snaking line of his marines as they waited for orders, his eyes lingering on one soldier in particular. The man had been pulled out of his unit after a slug tore his arm to tatters, the injury sustained while carrying a wounded comrade out of harm's way. The sight of him brought thoughts of Major Kyle to Fairburn's mind and his answer left no room for argument.

'Shepard is a deserter, no matter his reasons. We focus our attention on the bunkers. Understood?'

'Understood, Sir. Out.'

Fairburn sucked in a lungful of Torfan's air. It tasted like blood; metallic and bitter. He shut out his doubts, his concerns, every one of those voices that told him he was wrong. Certainty was the key to victory. Doubt was poison to certainty. Fairburn turned his attention back to his omni-tool as the battle raged on around him.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Shepard flattened himself against the wall as the shadow at his feet stopped. The harsh shadows thrown up by the surrounding buildings were absolute: nothing existed of Shepard save the thin outline of a pistol held loosely towards the ground.

The sentry coughed and his silhouette reached up to scratch at the lining under his chin. Shepard tensed at the movement, his body poised to strike the moment he rounded the corner.

With a mild curse, the guard turned back the way he came and Shepard released a grateful breath. Though he could have taken him silently, his overseers would have noticed a missing sentry eventually. The less risk of detection there was, the better.

After a quick glance around the corner, he made his move. He ran quickly and carefully into the open, his weapon trained ahead. He was going in blind, with only his instincts to guide him and with it came a fear like nothing he had ever felt before. He tasted the salt of his sweat on his lips and his heart was a painful thump in his chest. One bad move or poor stroke of luck would see his body cooling on Torfan's cruel surface, forgotten and struck off the Alliance's personnel records as MIA.

The building in front of him was a block of smoke-grey stone and plasteel. Several power conduits ran into it from the outside while large, noisy fans whirred behind metal cages. Shepard had spotted it before going in and knew it was where he needed to be.

The door was easy to hack and after only a moment's work it slid aside to reveal an interior cramped with machinery and consoles. The air was thick and dingy with heat, and Shepard felt the sweat trickle down his brow as his eyes scanned the room carefully for movement. There was no one there.

Shepard had judged the air filtration unit for such a large base would have to be enormous to cope with the demand for fresh, clean air and he was right. Though the room itself was small, the outside fans were just the beginnings of a series of massive vents that ran straight into the ground at the far end of the shack. Closing the door behind him, Shepard crossed the room and peered into the shafts, his face striped with thin red light that moved constantly with the motion of the fans above.

He removed the grills from the vents and with a single, calming breath, he slipped inside. The light disappeared as he fell for longer than he thought possible, his mind filled a sudden fear of the black unknown and all it would bring.

**~~ME-DS~~**

'I'm telling you, it can't be done,' the batarian growled into his intercom. 'Kashek can bark all he wants but not one of us signed up just to be his cannon fodder. Those poor schmucks he sent with Arbas might feel safe now, but when their numbers start thinning they'll realise we should've just killed Kashek from the start and surrendered.'

A turian voice replied from the other side, the smooth, flanging tones buzzing through the intercom speakers. 'Careful, Ranu. Kashek might be preoccupied now but you never know who's listening. Speak too loud and before you know it you'll be dumped on an ice rock in nothing but your undersuit.'

Ranu was far too old a hand to be ignorant of when unfriendly ears were listening. Before him stood a bank of grainy, flickering security monitors, each one showing a different area of the base. The Alliance's jamming devices had done a number on the camera feeds but his eyes were well-trained and experienced. He would know if something were out of place.

'Things weren't like this under Haliat,' he grumbled, shaking his thick head.'He took risks but damn it, he was clever, and he had vision. Next to him. Kashek is...'

'Haliat ran like a dog after Elysium,' the turian pointed out. 'He was an opportunist, nothing more. What else can you expect from a pirate?'

Ranu grunted. 'I expect he's still alive, for one, not sitting here on this cursed moon, waiting for-'

A noise stopped him. It sounded like something had fallen over behind him and he glanced over his shoulder, frowning. He muttered, 'Hold on.'

The sound had been minute, just a whisper but it was there. The security room was not big but it doubled as the server room. Three narrow aisles of computers split the room into thirds and it was down the centre one Ranu trod carefully, his steps light. There was nothing else to break the steady drone of computer fans and Ranu straightened, unsure if he had actually heard anything at all.

He took a step step back and something scraped on the sole of his boot. Squinting, the old batarian bent over to see a rusted metal bolt lying on the ground. He looked up slowly, his face slackening with realisation.

The air vent above him fell away from the ceiling with a clatter and a great weight smashed into Ranu, knocking him from his feet. A flash of grey followed and an armoured fist crunched into his cheek.

Shepard bared his teeth in rage. The batarian had been stunned by the impact and Shepard kept up the momentum, hammering blow after blow into exposed brown flesh wherever he saw it. It was not long before his punches broke the skin, sending blood across the floor in loose sprays.

Ranu tried to fight back but his strength had fled him. He swiped the air feebly and Shepard allowed the strike to flow past him before grasping the arm and twisting it painfully. The armour suits did not allow for much internal movement and Shepard used the extra leverage to wrench Ranu's elbow in its socket, making him cry out in pain.

'The hostages!' Shepard snarled. He turned on the spot, dragging Ranu around in a wide circle, bringing him head-first into a bank of servers. The electronics hissed and spat, and the air immediately filled with the sweet stench of burnt flesh. 'The hostages,' he repeated, 'where are they?'

Ranu coughed and grimaced at the taste of metal on his tongue. A large part of his face had grown numb and stretched. He could not even open his eyes to see his attacker. 'Who are you?' he managed to ask, but it was not what Shepard wanted to hear.

He gripped Ranu's head with his other hand, digging his fingers into the rigid folds of his skull.

Ranu groaned as he was thrown into the fizzing, wrecked computers once more. Blue sparks filled the air, crackled across his skin, charring the flesh and sending waves of agony through his body. 'No!' he yelled out. 'No more, please!'

Shepard leaned closed, lowering his voice into a menacing snarl. 'I'll do this all night if I have to. I've come for those slaves, now tell me where you're keeping them!'

'You're after the slaves?' Ranu hissed disbelievingly. 'But...but they're just animals! Why would you care about-'

'Not what I asked for,' Shepard said. His expression was merciless as he clutched a severed cable from the ruined mess of the server bank. The end was bare, coppery metal and a thin wisp of white smoke curled up from between the frayed strands.

He did not give the batarian a chance to object. He stabbed the cable into Ranu's fleshy neck and he bucked in Shepard's grip, screaming in agony. The smell of burning flesh became unbearable but Shepard endured it without expression. It was a smell he remembered all too clearly.

When the wire was removed, Ranu sank to his knees. A welt of twisted, blackened flesh covered his neck and he whimpered quietly, begging in words Shepard did not understand.

'The hostages,' he said again, readying the cable. 'Now.'

'They're...' Ranu rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. 'They're on Kashek's ship, in the cargo hold. It's...it's on the south side of the base, in the main hangar...'

'The name of the ship.' After a few seconds of silence, Shepard sharply twisted his grip on Ranu's arm. 'The _name!_'

'It's the _Aidaean's Mercy_,' the batarian said quietly. 'Kashek will never...let...' His voice trailing off, Ranu went limp in Shepard's hands, the life bled from him.

Air seeped into Shepard's lungs, running into the cracks of his mind and breaking the cold mask of moments ago. He blinked. The light seemed too harsh, too bright. The air was chokingly thick with dust and the smell... It was meat, but not the meat Shepard knew. The very touch of it on his senses made him want to retch. He heard ships. He had seen them before, remembered coming to the planet on one but...

'Run!' a voice told him. It was deep, rough and familiar. 'Run, now!'

He wanted to run. He had to but his boots were too heavy, his weapon too unwieldy. He had to stay. He had to watch.

Something struck Shepard on the back of his head and in a blinding flash of pain, the world went dark.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Kashek turned the body of Ranu over with his foot, his expression set in a glower of palpable fury. The room smelled vile and he could see why. Half of his security chief's face had been melted off, burned and seared until the white of bone showed at the edges. It was no great loss; the man was old, after all but Kashek was a man of principle. His base had been invaded and the man responsible now lay motionless a short distance away.

After a brief consideration, Kashek turned to one of the three who had found the human. 'You say he offered no resistance?'

The slavers looked at each other before one answered for them. 'The human did not even hear us enter the room, Sir. He stood trembling, staring at Ranu with his eyes wide.'

The others nodded in agreement and Kashek snorted. 'I do not like this. This one human infiltrated my base, killed one of my men and then waits to be captured.' He looked up at the slaver who had spoken. 'Take him to the cell. I will question him myself.'

As they dragged the unconscious human from the room, Kashek looked again at the ruined flesh of Ranu's face. The pain that had been inflicted upon him would be returned tenfold but Kashek was still uneasy. He had not feared the Alliance before when he knew he could hide behind his slave shield to escape, but if the humans could be this ruthless then surely...

With a snort, he threw up a hand in frustration. Soon he would be off the moon and free to rebuild. After that, none of this would matter. He let the thought comfort him as he followed the sounds of dragging feet out of the security room and through the dark corridors.


	5. Chapter 5

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Five: A Butcher Born***

'What is it, Dad?' the young Shepard asked, his dirty yellow hair tousled by the strong winds. Dust rushed past him in flurries of brown but he had learned to keep his back to it, so it did not get onto his eyes and mouth.

It was then he heard it too. It was the throaty groan of a ship fighting against the atmosphere, its intakes warring with the gritty air. Shepard could not see the ship but he knew the sound well enough.

His father threw him a glance, his blue eyes glistening. 'Listen to that drive core. What can you tell me about it?'

Normally, Shepard would have rolled his eyes at the question, dismissing it as yet another of the little tests his father loved to set. The Shephard children had to learn the rules of survival out in the colonies, the old man had always said, and survival depended on many things. The questions were always asked with a small, quirky smile but there was no sign of it this time. Now his face was as stone, hard and still.

Shepard answered him seriously, 'It's louder than the shuttles we use but smaller than a war ship. The intakes can't deal with this atmosphere and they're under strain.'

His father nodded. 'Come on, we need to get back.'

Shepard did not understand. 'What? Why? We haven't even set up the sensors yet.'

'Don't argue, just get in the shuttle,' the old man said, the old parade ground-snap of his voice returning as it always did when he needed something done straight away. 'Forget the equipment.'

At that, the Shepard boy frowned but he did not argue. He broke into a jog, covering the rugged ground easily and leapt into the shuttle's passenger seat before the doors had fully opened. The craft lurched and moaned as his father warmed up the element zero core, and within seconds they were airborne, racing over the hills as fast as the winds would allow.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The roar of engines dimmed in Shepard's ears. He moved his lips, wincing at the sting of a cut while his throat choked out a sound, dry and hoarse. Slowly, his eyes opened to the sight of a large room stacked with wide haptic displays and tactical readouts. The room was deserted with the exception of a thickset batarian standing over him, a cruel smile lighting up the alien's square face.

'Looks like our uninvited guest is awake,' the batarian said. He flexed his gloved hands and even through the armour Shepard heard the crack of his knuckles. 'Good thing too. We're almost out of time.'

There was another beside him, a batarian dwarfed by the towering stature of his companion. He spoke quickly, fear pulling the words from his tongue, 'Come on, Kashek! The ships won't leave without your command and the Alliance has started moving to intercept our escape route! If we don't leave now, we're finished!'

The smaller one quailed in Kashek's shadow as the bigger man rounded on him. 'We're leaving when _I _say we're leaving, not a moment before!' He locked eyes with Shepard again. 'This human has batarian blood on his hands. Isn't that right, scum?.'

Shepard realised he was seated and he tried to rise, only for his arms to tug against solid bindings. At least they hadn't bothered to remove his armour, he noted thankfully. From the sound of it, they barely had time to restrain him.

Shepard licked his bloody lips and looked at the leader. 'I'm here for the hostages,' he said, as clearly as his parched throat would allow. 'The slaves. I don't care about you or your men, Kashek. Right now the entire Alliance fleet is converging on this base and you don't have time to carry out whatever you're planning. Leave now and you'll have a chance. Trust me, if you leave the slaves behind the Alliance won't bother chasing you far.'

His eyes held Kashek's, his face carefully blank and yet it hid a roiling anger. There was nothing Shepard wanted more than to kill both of them. His eyes drifted beyond Kashek then, to where his pistol lay on a large table with other confiscated devices. It was a mistake, to reveal his thoughts so clearly.

Kashek followed his gaze and smiled, shaking his head. 'Just to feel a slug in my back? You must think I was born yesterday, human.' He stepped forward, flexing his great fists. 'Luckily, I have time enough to make the last moments of your life very painful. I will use that time well.'

Kashek's fist lashed out, smashing against Shepard's temple with a dull smack. The lieutenant grunted and gasped, rocking back in the chair. Another punch came, then another, each a wet slap that sent Shepard's senses spiralling. Darkness came and went, and only the steady rhythm of the blows marked the passage of time.

His only solace was that it would not last long.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Webber had fallen. Kyle could still see her in the black hallway, the tiny lights on her suit making the holes in her torso glimmer gently. He had to tear his eyes from her constantly to pick targets as they tried to rush the corridor and with every attempt, the glaring blue muzzle flashes would flicker across her body. Kyle could scarcely breathe for the smoke.

'Rodriguez, you still with me, buddy?' the major shouted to his last standing lieutenant, who shouldered the doorway beside him.

The man's face was black, streaked with bright red. 'I'll hold them here, Sir,' he yelled back. 'Fall back with Mason, I'll cover you!'

Slugs ripped through the door, chipping stone and metal around Kyle's head as he ran fast and low back through the corridor. He found Mason where he had left him, propped up against a wall out of sight of the encroaching horde.

No matter how many they killed, more took their place. It was as if the darkness of Torfan itself were spewing them out, each slaver striding over the body of the last in a desperate crush. It was unlike anything Kyle had seen before. They were suicidal or mad. Either way, they would not stop.

A grenade went off back the way he'd come, making his ears pop and he thought he heard Rodriguez scream. The snapping explosion echoed through the bunker, bringing with it a stillness that told Kyle everything he needed to know. He ground his teeth and lifted Mason over his shoulder.

'It's just us now,' he murmured to his lieutenant. 'We can do this. We can hold them,' he repeated, as if doing so would make it true. 'We can do this...we can do this...'

They had one more room to flee to. After that, there would be nowhere left to run.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Kashek's knuckles dripped with red, his armour spattered with it. Before him, the lieutenant's head hung forward, limp and lifeless.

Every breath brought new agony to Shepard. His eyes were closed, his breathing reduced to a constant, bubbling hiss from his nostrils. His face was a patchwork of cuts and swollen flesh and one of his eyes was almost black with blood.

'Had enough?' Kashek smirked, panting with effort. 'You humans are all the same. You're all soft, too soft to survive against us. While you pander to the Council, we nurture our hatred, ready to feed from it when we take the Verge back from you once more.'

'Come on, Kashek!' the other batarian shouted, his voice almost delirious with panic. 'The Alliance will be upon us at any moment! If we don't move now we're dead!'

'He's right,' Shepard muttered. His words were slurred and bloody spit seeped from the corner of his mouth as he lifted his head. 'You're just signing your own death warrant by staying here.'

'Shut up! I don't take advice from human vermin! And you, Arghur,' Kashek roared, pointing at his subordinate. 'If I hear another word from you I'll tear out your entrails with my bare hands!'

Kashek's man stiffened with resolve, his tone hardening. 'No, Kashek. I won't let you bring death on the rest of us, not while we have a chance to escape. Our men are standing by in the shuttle bay, waiting on your order to take off and without it they'll never get away in time. If you don't go out to them right now, I will!'

Kashek's face darkened with rage and he stepped close to Arghur before jabbing him sharply in the chest. 'Just try it, whelp,' he snarled. 'You know why I lead this army. You know I alone am the reason we are feared. I am the reason the Hegemony sent us their weapons, their tanks and I will _not_ be challenged by a pathetic scrap like you, do you understand me?'

Arghur wavered uncertainly and Shepard interjected, feeding his doubts, 'He'll get you all killed,' the human rasped. 'You need to get out while you can!'

'Silence!' Kashek spat and the back of his hand cracked across Shepard's face.

Shepard took the blow without taking his eyes from Arghur. 'You can walk away now. Just leave and save yourself. Kashek only wants his revenge, he doesn't care about any of you!'

Shepard saw his words were having an effect. Arghur trembled, his body clearly itching to simply turn and run. Shepard held his eyes. 'Just walk away.'

Making his decision, Arghur nodded slowly and turned his back on them both. He had taken only a few steps before Kashek's hand clamped on his shoulder, turning him roughly on the spot while his other hammered into Arghur's face. The man staggered under heavy punches, Kashek's strength too great for him to weather and he tumbled to the floor with a pained yelp.

Shepard rocked his weight forward, enough to tip his chair and find the floor with his boots. Hunched double and grunting against his restraints, he sped towards Kashek and crashed into the batarian, knocking him from his feet.

Kashek spat and cursed. He fumbled with Shepard's weight but the human was heavy in his armour. It was not long before Arghur loomed over him, his face streaked with dark blood and his eyes murderous.

Armour thwacked against flesh, Arghur's punches forming a sickly beat as he knelt on his defenseless master's neck and pounded his face. Kashek tried to cry for mercy but there was none to be given and his voice was stifled by the relentless blows.

Arghur's teeth were bared and quickly became speckled with gore. For years he had been made to fear this man; a brute who had executed any who had opposed him, who in his misguided patriotism had forced them all to perform acts beyond any reasonable sentient being. Into his fists, Arghur poured all his grief for tortured brothers and wrongly-persecuted friends, until the body beneath him finally stopped twitching.

Gasping, Arghur rose to his feet and blinked. The room seemed much smaller now Kashek was not standing in it. Even the lights seemed brighter. He looked down at the human.

The chair had broken beneath Shepard in the impact and he now lay sprawled across Kashek, his chest heaving painfully. Beads of sweat travelled the lines of his forehead, running into the cuts above his eyes, making them burn mercilessly. He gathered his senses and tried to sit up, only to freeze at the sight of a gun barrel hovering between his eyes.

Arghur's grip was shaky but his eyes were steady as they remained on the human. 'You have killed many of my brothers tonight.'

Shepard stared at him, looking past the barrel and into Arghur's eyes.

'If you hadn't, then Kashek may have been my doom.' Arghur released his grip on the pistol and spun it on his palm, offering it to Shepard. 'Consider the debt repaid, human.'

Shepard's hand snapped out and took the pistol without hesitation. He clambered upright groggily and the room spun around him. He took a second to master himself before looking back to Arghur suspiciously. 'The Adaean's Mercy. The ship - where is it?'

Arghur did not play coy. He dipped his head towards a door beyond them. 'That's Kashek's private vessel, a freighter, though it has a drive core to outrun a turian frigate. The slaves you seek will be in the cargo hold.' He paused then, and gave Shepard an uncomfortable look. 'He was not a gentle man. Don't be under any illusions as to what you will find there.'

Shepard snorted as he checked his heat sinks. 'Don't act concerned. You're a slaver, the suffering of those people means nothing to any of you. It's only because you spare my life that I'm letting you leave with yours.'

'I'll take what I can get,' the batarian replied with a nod. He brushed past Shepard, his legs stiff with pain. 'I'll take you to the hangar and tell them about Kashek. We'll leave and you can secure the Mercy without fear of guards. A mutually beneficial arrangement.'

Knowing he had little choice but to accept the help, Shepard could only stare grudgingly at Arghur's back as he led the way through the slaver compound.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The air was solid with pale grey smoke. Fairburn suppressed a cough at its acridity as he passed through the bunker corridors, his body cutting a dark path through the mist. He stepped over bodies of pirates laid out upon one another as thickly as mulch on a forest floor, his eyes tracing them in sheer astonishment.

The marine column had arrived in a hail of fire, with the Makos bringing death from the ridge lines in overwhelming torrents. The well-ordered assault had finally broken the slavers and they scattered in all directions, perfect fodder for the drones and recon groups while the marines entered the bunker at last.

The hills had been carpeted with slaver dead but the carnage inside was something else. Fairburn's nostrils flared at the wretched stench of emptied bowels and he lifted his eyes rather than see where the smell was coming from. The corridors twisted left and right, the corners coming suddenly in the impenetrable smoke.

Stopping, Fairburn jabbed a hand to his right and the squad behind him tramped down an adjacent hallway, the rhythmic thumps of their boots hypnotic in the dead silence.

'Sir,' came the voice of the sergeant he had sent ahead through his suit radio. 'You need to see this.'

'What is it? Is it Kyle? Is he alive?'

'He's alive, Sir.'

Something in the sergeant's tone made Fairburn's pulse quicken. 'What's wrong, Sergeant? Is he hurt?'

'I...' The man's voice disappeared, only to return moments later, filled with sadness. 'I don't know, Sir.'

Fairburn was there in minutes, striding into a dark storage room, expecting the worst. The enemy dead were piled around the door and the ground was streaked with batarian blood. A long smear of blue caught Fairburn's eye and he cocked a curious brow at the sight of a turian amongst the corpses, its doubled-jointed legs splayed at unnatural angles.

'Where is he?' he asked the first man he came upon.

The marine saluted and led Fairburn to where a small group of soldiers were clustered around the far wall. The lighting was dim there; a single red emergency lamp edged the men with an ominous crimson glow. They moved aside for Fairburn and the general froze in a shock at the figure who sat propped against the wall.

It was Major Kyle, of that he had no doubt. The man was covered in brown and red gore, his face slick and scalp mottled with it. His armour was cracked and scarred and two holes had been punched through the plating on his left arm.

'I failed to protect them.'

Fairburn was silent. He glanced at the marines but they did not know what to say. The only sound came from Kyle, a constant murmuring that sounded almost like chanting.

'They were my children but I failed...to protect them.'

It was then Fairburn noticed something in Kyle's lap. Through the smoke and darkness that smothered them all, he could make out the vague shape of a body draped over the major like a rag doll. It wore the onyx armour of an Alliance Marine. He recognised Lieutenant Mason, though the face barely resembled that of a human.

'I failed, I failed, I failed...they were mine. _My _children,' Kyle mouthed softly, over and over.

The sergeant beside Fairburn spoke loudly to cover Kyle's voice. 'We found him like this. Our guess is the slavers cut and run at the last moment, leaving him alone. He's lucky to be alive.'

Somehow, Fairburn could not bring himself to agree. His lips parted silently as Major Kyle looked up at him, his eyes two wide circles of white beneath the bloody filth.

He spoke to the general, and yet somehow beyond him, 'I failed to protect...my _children!_'

His final word dissolved into a fit of sobs that echoed emptily against the bunker walls. It was only a single, gasping moment, and Kyle let it go on until his breath was spent. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, drawing lines through the encrusted dirt.

Fairburn turned to the sergeant and attempted to work the unease from his voice. 'Get a casevac ready on the double and find the rest of his team. I want them off this God-damned moon.'

The marine saluted again and immediately poured a string of orders into his radio while Fairburn marched from the room, Kyle's anguished cries haunting his every step.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The airlock door whined, its gears fighting against rust and decay. Shepard squinted briefly at it before turning back, stretching his pistol out cautiously to scan the grubby bulkheads behind him.

It was hard not to jump at shadows. As Arghur had promised, the Mercy was deserted, its crew fleeing on board the small fleet that even now Shepard could hear outside, their drive cores sending shivers through the floor and into his legs. It was bizarre, surreal even, to think that only minutes ago the ship had teemed with shouting men. Perhaps those same men were now thinking how lucky they were, to escape the wrath of the Alliance against all odds.

That particular pill was still a bitter one for Shepard to swallow but he cast aside his doubt with a shake of his head. He had to do whatever he could to rescue those hostages, even if that meant allowing a few minor slavers to escape for the time being. If they had all been as dangerous as Kashek, he might have thought twice about the arrangement.

The airlock opened haltingly, the doors sticking to their grimey frames and Shepard advanced carefully into the cargo hold. It was dark and filthy, and from the scale-encrusting pipes lining the ceiling dripped a pale fluid that spread in a pool across the deck. The smell hit him next; a sour, heavy stench that reminded him of something he could not quite place..

It did not take Shepard long to find them. He lowered his weapon and his mouth dropped open at the sight of dozens of bodies, their arms and legs akimbo and greasy hair stuck to their dull, staring faces. Blood ran from their perforated bodies in rivers.

Shepard stared numbly at the dead hostages, as if they would blink and rise to their feet at any moment. He loosed his grip on the pistol and it fell to the ground with a clang. He stumbled forward but his legs buckled suddenly, forcing him to his knees.

'No...' he whispered. It was the only thing he could say. His eyes searched the splayed corpses, trying to assess how long they had been dead, how they had been killed but his mind wouldn't respond. His every instinct reeled. He couldn't have been too late. He had gotten there as quickly as he could.

The knees of his armour scraped across the ground as he shuffled closer to them. One face in particular stared at him pleadingly, her eyes piercing blue. They were the same as his and her hair was a vibrant red, though it had grown thin through years of slavery.

Shepard ground his teeth in anguish and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at her.

He barely noticed his suit radio chime. It beeped at him, trying to draw his attention and the high sound reverberated throughout the hold. Shepard tried to think then, knowing the world would not wait on his grief. He took in a deep, long breath and forced some composure.

'Shepard here.' His voice was tired and coarse.

'Lieutenant, this is Sceptre Two-One,' came the response.

Shepard frowned. Sceptre Two-One was a very specific call sign, the leader of an interceptor squadron, he remembered. That they were contacting him must have meant the fleet were granting him air support.

'Lieutenant, do you read?' Two-One asked.

'Loud and clear,' Shepard answered, climbing to his feet. He paced the cargo hold, keeping his gaze firmly away from the dead slaves as he walked. Silently, he thanked the pilot for allowing him to focus on something else. 'Go ahead, Two-One.'

'Sir, we are reading large numbers of bogies in your airspace, estimate fifteen to twenty. We are en-route to engage but command have warned of possible civilian hostages aboard those ships. Please confirm, Lieutenant, are the hostages on board?'

Shepard stopped. His breath escaped his lungs slowly and his lips hovered open slightly as indecision gripped him. He remembered Arghur and the deal he had struck with the batarian. It would have been easy to lie, to tell Two-One the slaves were on board and allow the pirates to get away, keeping up his end of the deal.

Swallowing hard, Shepard took a long look at the dead men, women and children at the other end of the hold. His tone was even, without the slightest trace of emotion. 'Negative, Two-One. Hostages are secure. You are free to engage.'

'Wilco, Lieutenant. There won't be a slaver left alive up here. Two-One out.'

The line clicked off and Shepard blinked, his mouth dry. He almost saw Arghur's face, his features filled with disbelief as his ship was torn apart but Shepard found the image easy to push aside. It was the red-haired girl whom he could not tear his eyes from as she lay tangled among the dead.

Her sallow skin was flecked with dirt and he wanted to wipe it clean, as he had done when she was just a little girl. He still remembered how she had shouted and beat her small hands against her big brother's chest, and how she had hid under his bed when their father was looking for her.

Her name was Jane Shepard. She looked just like he remembered, before she was taken from him, now an image of their mother in death as well as life.

Though he wanted to weep, all Shepard could do was turn away, his heart filled with black fury at the batarians and all they had done.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The slavers offered little resistance when Fairburn's column finally made it to the main base. The marines formed a dark trail leading back through the valley, the Mako tanks dotted along the line like watchful hounds. Heavy communications and medical shelters had been set up on the outskirts of the base and slaver prisoners were herded into groups just outside the entrance to the command bunker. Every few minutes a patrol would escort another few prisoners of war from its depths, their hands raised and heads hanging in fear and shame.

Arbas stood among the sullen prisoners. The defeat was a heavy weight on their shoulders and no one spoke. A few pillars of smoke rose lazily above the pale structures around them, orange flames licking up the wispy strands. He thought of his cousin, and wondered idly if Kashek had made it off the moon. He glanced to the sky, where flaming hulks were burning a path to the ground and the stars were outshone with devastating explosions. No, he admitted to himself with a trace of satisfaction. Their foolish leader was surely no more.

He head swivelled gradually, taking in the might of the Alliance military machine. What had made Kashek think any of them could withstand such a foe? Did he honestly think the Hegemony's paltry gifts would save them? Shaking his head bitterly, Arbas lowered his eyes to the black ground under his feet. The death of Kashek was a mercy. If he'd known Arbas had surrendered to the humans, not even their shared blood would stop him from taking his revenge.

Arbas straightened as another pair of slavers were brought to the group. Their hands were placed behind their heads and one of the batarians winced as he was forced onto his knees. Neither of them looked at him and for that, Arbas was grateful. He did not think he could bear their shame.

He looked towards the bunker entrance in time to see a shadow fall across it from within. Leaning against the doorway, a tall human soldier stopped to gather his breath. He was clad in different armour from the regular marines; a light suit as grey as Torfan's hills. The man's face was a mess of cuts and bruises but even from a distance, Arbas could see his eyes glint angrily beneath his injuries.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Shepard's head felt light as the cold air hit him, and he steadied himself before moving on. Where before he had snuck carefully across the empty ground, he now strode through it without fear, surrounded by soldiers who stared at him in open curiosity. He did not answer their stares.

Nothing mattered to him, not any more. The taste of metal and decay was strong in his mouth and his eyes were red with blood. And it had all been for nothing. Everything he had worked for, all that he had done since Jane was taken from him, it was all undone the moment he met her lifeless gaze.

The pistol was a powerful weight in his hand, making him feel strong. The sound of his own beating heart was the only one in his ears. Marines surged past him. Perhaps one of them tried to speak to him, he wasn't sure. All he saw were the batarians kneeling in the dust a short distance away.

Slowing his breath, Shepard started towards them. He heard a shout, one of alarm, or perhaps panic. The sound fled into the rushing, pounding rhythm in his head.

His pistol flashed and juddered in his hand. Men screamed. Bodies peeled away from one another as the captive slavers tried to get away but Shepard saw only the ships that bore his sister away, leaving his parents and friends smoking husks on Mindoir's chalky earth.

'Stop!'

The voice broke through the haze, jarring Shepard back to his senses. His weapon arm had been forced up by a thick, strong hand.

'Come on, Lieutenant, that's enough!'

Shepard blinked hard. The marine that had stopped him was enormous, a barrel-chested private who held Shepard's wrist, matching his strength with ease. He wore a helmet but Shepard could tell he was young by the lightness of his voice.

'Let go of me,' the lieutenant said slowly.

'Can't do that,' the marine replied. He stood his ground, unafraid and poised to throw Shepard on his back if given cause. Judging by the size of him, Shepard did not doubt he could do it.

Looking past him, Shepard took in the sight of five prisoners, their mouths open and spilling blood across the ground. As the rage fled him, the sight became gradually more sickening.

After a few moments, Shepard looked into the marine's visor and gave him a nod, releasing his grip on the pistol. The marine took it from him but did not try to restrain Shepard further. Several other soldiers had detached themselves from the main column, rifles held low but ready as they walked towards him cautiously.

'I could have shot you,' Shepard murmured. It was not a threat, nor a boast. Even to his own ears, Shepard sounded appalled.

The marine shrugged. 'I figured I could stop you. Not that I don't blame you for wanting any of these guys dead but the fight's over. Time to stop.'

Though the world around them had slowed to a standstill and his eyes were clouded with images past and present, one detail presented itself to Shepard with perfect clarity. He looked at the name plate on the marine's armour.

'Private Vega,' Shepard read aloud. He looked at the young man, his eyes finally clear. Perhaps he had intended to say more but the words did not come. Instead, the lieutenant turned to face the men that came to bring him in.

Standing nearby, Arbas watched the mad human as he was led away. The big man who had stopped him answered the questions of others, while more came to drag away the bodies of the men who had been gunned down. The batarian grimaced. He had been standing next to one of them and his blood now grew cold on Arbas' skin.

The others looked on, afraid. Many had muttered that the humans would never forgive them for taking their people, that they would be tortured and executed without trial or mercy. Arbas had tried to calm them, to make them see that surrender would see them safely back home, that the Council would force the humans to treat them well.

Now, as the bodies on the ground twitched their final thoughts away, all Arbas could do was roar at the Alliance soldiers before him, 'Is this your mercy?' he cried. 'Is _this_ your honour?'

His shouts echoed against the hills but the humans did not so much as lift their heads to him. He sank to the ground, broken. Torfan and its scarlet planet did not pity him, and the wind chilled his bones as he lay trembling on the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Six: Unforeseen Consequences***

Shepard's hands clutched the yellow dirt, digging into it and staining his nails a sickly brown. He kept his mouth shut and breathed through his nose but it did little good. Every time the wind blew, more grit would find its way into his mouth. He coughed, the sound muffled by his closed lips. He doubted anyone would hear him regardless. Aside from the winds that battered the hills, the bestial roar of the strange ships beyond the ridge ahead were the loudest things he'd ever heard.

He looked up at his father, who was scaling the slope several feet ahead, and then back down at their shuttle. It had been covered in a rough, sandy-coloured tarp that rippled in the wind, making it all but invisible to aircraft. Men on the ground would be able to see it plain as day, his father had said, but by then it would not even matter.

That had frightened Shepard. He wanted to stop his dad, to ask him what was happening, why they had to park so far from the settlement but he knew the old man wouldn't answer. Even on the shuttle ride, his grim expression alone had scared Shepard into silence and his son's suspicions were only confirmed when he took out the old Mantis rifle. Something had arrived on Mindoir, something that endangered them all.

They came to the crest, though before Shepard reached the top, his father stopped him with a hand. His eyes were fierce as he spoke, keeping his voice low, 'No more than one of us at a time. Whatever you do, don't stand up. At this distance your silhouette will be spotted in seconds.'

Shepard nodded. He settled, pressing himself down, as if trying to sink into the rock.

His father made some adjustments to the Mantis and took a deep breath before bringing the weapon to bear. He guided his eye to the scope and Shepard would have given anything to see what he was seeing.

His father let out a low growl. 'Slavers. Batarians, mostly. A couple of turians.' He shifted slightly and a layer of soil trickled from beneath him. 'Basic gear. ERCS, BSA, some expensive Ariake armour. Shotguns, pistols, almost all short range and high stopping power.'

He was speaking to himself, Shepard realised. He could almost see the plan taking shape in his father's head.

'Too much visibility,' the old man muttered, biting his lip. 'A lot of ground to cover. The majority of them are focused to the west, though, that's good. That's good...'

He pulled away from the scope and his eyes flickered from side to side thoughtfully before turning to his son. 'I need you to take the rifle.'

'Dad, I can't...' Shepard said fearfully, 'I've never...'

'Killed a man?' his father finished. He smiled sadly, the weathered edges of his eyes wrinkling. 'It's not my place to make you do that, son. Taking the life of another should always be your choice. That way, the blame will never lie elsewhere. But I can't use this. I need to move fast and in close quarters it'll only be a liability. There's a Kessler in our bedroom. I'll grab that if need be but if all goes well I won't need a weapon to begin with.'

He withdrew the Mantis from the crest of the hill and handed it down to Shepard. 'Get back down to the shuttle and wait twenty minutes, not one second longer. If I'm not back by then, get out of here and return in twenty-four hours, when their ships are gone. Send the distress call and the Alliance will answer.'

'Dad, don't go alone,' Shepard said pleadingly. He felt like a child; frightened and helpless. He felt cool tears sting the corners of his eyes and his voice started to crack, but he spoke the words anyway, even if there was no bravery in his voice. 'Please, I can help. Let me go down there. I'm fast, and you can use the rifle, and...'

There was no use in arguing. There never was. The elder man's eyes glistened as he fought to hide his pride and sorrow. 'Do as I say, son. I can't...I can't lose you all, not now, not like this. Stay out of sight,' he repeated. His tone wavered, and he reached out to ruffle his boy's hair before letting his hand fall to cup his cheek.

'I love you, my son. So does your mother, and Jane. No matter what happens, never forget that.'

He could not bear to wait for a response.

Shepard watched his father scramble over the summit of the hill and the scraping of his feet could be heard for many long moments after. Shepard clutched the Mantis to his chest. It was the last piece of his father left and he thought he could still feel his warmth in the metal casing.

He squeezed it tighter when the shouts came, and then the gunfire. His eyes were shut but he could still hear the screams of anguish. They lingered even after the pale sun of Mindoir had long set.

**~~ME-DS~~**

The taste of earth was still strong on Shepard's tongue and it mingled with the bitter blood that stained his teeth. What little of the dusty scarlet light that managed to reach him through the small window painted his armour with a ghostly sheen, leaving him looking as dead as he felt.

He lay in a tiny cell within Kashek's stronghold, appropriated and used in the most ironic way possible; to hold the captive pirates. Shepard could not appreciate the humour in it. The cell reeked of decay, and despair had been written into the very walls by generation after generation of slaves.

As he lay on the single narrow bed, his mind wandered until he thought he could see huddled figures packed into the room, some weeping, some silent, some simply breathing, broken and resigned. Perhaps it was the sight of Jane among them but Shepard was oddly unafraid of what would come next. He had found her at last and brought her vengeance, if not freedom.

He snorted. Or maybe it was that he was just a tired, battered shell of a man in stinking armour, one who had long given up hope of the vaguest chance of mercy. The consequences of his actions had been spelled out by so many in the past few hours that the words had become meaningless. In the end, his future had disappeared the moment he'd left Major Kyle in that bunker.

He scratched his chin. Even through the thick gauntlets, he could tell what a mess he looked by the way they scraped against his skin. His hair was dark and sodden with blood and sweat, and the whiskers on his jaw rasped against his armoured fingers. The thought made him want to laugh, despite it all.

Something clanged behind him. It was the heavy sound of a door lock and in spite of his apathy, the long-instilled core of Shepard's discipline reacted. He levered himself upright, hissing as a forgotten pain in his ribs made itself known.

The cell door opened and through it strode an Alliance officer. The gold banding on each cuff of his dark blue uniform denoted the rank of captain and Shepard slipped off the bed to salute, unable to contain it.

It was not the crispest of motions but the captain seemed surprised to see it. He was a man of elder years, with leathery, mahogany-hued skin and thinning hair. His body was still strong despite his age and his eyes locked on Shepard's keenly.

Rather than returning the salute, he spoke, deep and clear, 'Lieutenant Shepard, I assume. Take a seat. You don't look too good.'

The voice was relaxed and Shepard frowned slightly, unsure of how to take it. Still, he obeyed and perched on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his thighs. 'I've been better. The slave cot sure isn't doing my back any good.'

'You're lucky to be alive at all, after what you went through. I'd say a night in this place would be paradise by comparison, even under the circumstances.'

At that, Shepard could not help but grunt in amusement. He couldn't laugh, but a weary smile traced his lips. It quickly vanished and he looked into the captain's brown eyes. 'And here I was thinking you'd be just another superior come by to tell me how much trouble I'm in.'

'You're assuming I'm familiar with what's going on here at all. What makes you think I know anything in the first place?'

'Well,' Shepard said, fighting a groan as he stretched his arms, 'the look in your eyes, for a start. I've had a lot of officers come by today telling me I'm going to prison, that I'm being court-martialled, even that they could push for the death penalty.' He smiled again, briefly and humorlessly. 'But something tells me you're not just here to tell me what I already know.'

The captain offered his own small grin in response; a thin tilt of his lips, barely visible. He paced the cell and his polished shoes clicked on the stone floor. 'I'll cut to the chase, Lieutenant. My name is Captain David Anderson. I'm here to discuss your mission today.'

A brief glance saw a look of shock painted across Shepard's face. Anderson was not surprised to see it. 'You've heard of me?'

'Who hasn't?' Shepard replied uncomfortably. It was not quite awe that made him uneasy, not a soldier as experienced as Shepard, but it was certainly something beyond respect. He dipped his head slightly. 'What I mean is, I don't think there's a marine out there who doesn't know you, Sir. You're a hero to a lot of people, not to mention the first N7.'

For a moment, Anderson looked as if he would laugh, but he brushed it aside with ease. 'You've been in this line of work long enough to know there are no such things as heroes, Lieutenant. My name might be worth a great deal to some but my hands are as dirty as anyone else's. In any case, that's not why I'm here.'

He stopped his pacing and turned to face Shepard directly. 'Lieutenant, I'm here to find out what really happened on this moon.'

The statement made Shepard blink in surprise. 'General Fairburn's story not enough for you, Sir?'

'General Fairburn is facing an investigation of his own. So is Admiral Walsh. Every man and woman on Torfan is having their dirty laundry aired out and they all have different stories to tell. Walsh would have the brass believe the blame lies with just about everyone under his command, that Fairburn jumped the gun in landing his marines, that Admiral Hackett's intervention ruined a carefully-orchestrated plan. Fairburn's no better. He blames you for going AWOL, abandoning Major Kyle and his team and getting over a hundred civilians killed.'

'I only moved when I did because Fairburn wouldn't move at all,' Shepard growled. He clenched his hands together. 'Those people were dead long before I arrived. Kashek probably pulled the trigger himself when he realised we'd taken the first bunker.'

Anderson shook his head sadly. 'You're probably right. Kashek was an evil bastard, a real scourge on the galaxy. I'm not sure about the Alliance brass but I know a lot of colonies will sleep easier tonight knowing he's dead. Look, Shepard, I'm not going to play games here. I know what a whitewash looks like better than anyone and neither Fairburn nor Walsh's version of events sits right with me. I'm here now because I want the truth.'

'What does it matter? The Alliance needs a scapegoat and nobody's more deserving than I am. The truth, Sir, is that I _did_ leave Kyle and his men - _my_ men - to die. I _did_ disobey the general's orders and if they want to throw the book at me, then I'm not going to stop them.'

His tone hard, Anderson raised his voice, 'The Butcher of Torfan. That's what they're calling you out there. Do you think you've earned that name? That you deserve it?'

Shepard matched his volume and stood up, 'I killed five prisoners in cold blood, of course I deserve it! If someone hadn't stopped me I'd have killed more! Those batarians had surrendered and I gunned them down without thinking!'

Anderson's response was quiet. 'Exactly. You weren't thinking and it wasn't calculated. More than anything, it wasn't typical of you and to me, that's the difference between humanity and inhumanity. I've seen people kill others far more innocent than those slavers and excuse their deaths as 'necessary'. In my books, what you did was excusable.'

There was knowledge in his gaze and after a few moments, Shepard sank back onto the bed, allowing him to continue.

'I know about Jane, Lieutenant. I've studied your files. Slavers invaded Mindoir in '70, leaving you orphaned and your sister in captivity. It doesn't take a genius to see why you volunteered for the Infiltrators the first chance you got, or why you put yourself forward for every covert op in the Traverse. You've spent the last eight years tracking her down and when you found her dead, you took it out on the first slavers you came across.'

A look of discomfort, perhaps even guilt passed over Anderson's features. 'Under the circumstances, I might have even done the same. I can't condone your actions, Shepard but I sure as hell understand them.'

'I appreciate your understanding, Sir but the fact is I broke just about every Alliance regulation in the book just to follow my instincts and for what? Dead marines, dead hostages, dead slavers; it was all because of me! Kyle was the only one left, of a team of _eight!_'

Anderson fell quiet and walked to the cell's only window. The light gave his skin a reddish tint that he loathed. Everything on Torfan seemed to be stained red, either by its internal planet or the blood of war.

'You didn't kill your men, or those hostages,' he said softly. 'I went over the transcripts and I know you learned about them when you first tapped into that communication tower. If Fairburn had allowed you to act sooner, they might have survived. If Walsh had given Fairburn the resources he needed from the start, he might have been able to spare your team to extract them. That's the thing about hindsight. It has a funny way of making all your decisions seem like the wrong ones.'

He turned and Shepard thought he could see a trace of regret in Anderson's eyes, quickly concealed.

'The point, Shepard, is that if just one little thing had been different, you wouldn't be here in this cell. You'd be celebrated as a saviour and all Fairburn's charges against you wouldn't mean a damn thing. They'd be calling you a hero, not a butcher.' He glanced about him, taking in the cell, then the filthy slat of a mattress Shepard sat upon. 'I'm going to ask you again: do you deserve this?'

The lieutenant let out a long breath and his head sank into his hands. He replied from between his fingers. 'I don't know. Maybe. I just don't know.' He looked again at Anderson. 'Is that why you're really here, Sir? To appeal?'

He didn't have the first clue why Captain Anderson, one of the most celebrated and prolific soldiers in the Alliance military, would take an interest in him. He dared not let hope rise.

'Let's just say I know how it feels, to do everything right and then have it all taken away. I was supposed to be your evaluator for this mission. It was up to me to decide who out of your team would become N7. I'm here to tell you that you're exactly what the Alliance needs - someone who can make decisions, work independently and do whatever it takes to accomplish the mission.'

He took a step towards Shepard. 'I might not wear an admiral's rings, but I won't have Fairburn dictate what happens to the soldiers under my command. I've already worked with Admiral Hackett to make sure nothing comes of these charges. As of right now, you can consider yourself officially N7.'

Anderson stretched out a hand. 'Congratulations, Lieutenant.'

Shepard could only stare at the hand blankly. The cell had turned into a mass of murky, swirling colours as everything shifted out of focus. The reality of what Anderson was proposing had not even begun to sink in and somewhere deep down, Shepard felt a stab of guilt.

He gave voice to it, 'I can't, Sir. I can't accept that someone can do everything I did and walk away with his career intact. I murdered prisoners of war. I cost my team their lives. No matter how you look at it, those are facts.' Exhaustion overtook him and his head drooped slightly. 'I appreciate the offer, really, I do. But I can't be rewarded after all this.'

'What makes you think you're getting away with anything?'

The question made Shepard look up. Anderson's expression was hard and unflinching.

'You're the Butcher of Torfan now. It's a name you'll carry with you the rest of your life. People will look at you and see a killer, a ruthless son of a bitch who spends his soldiers like credits. Everyone you meet will think they already know you, already know how you think and how you'll act. Your reputation will _define_ you.'

His words settled on Shepard like a dead weight. Once more, the certainty in Anderson's voice brooked no argument or question. He was telling Shepard how it would be and he had little choice but to accept it.

'Now shake my hand, Lieutenant. You're not going to get a chance like this again.'

Once more a thin vein of humour stole into his tone and a faint smirk crossed Anderson's lips. Again, Shepard had no choice but to match it. He reached up and clasped Anderson's hand firmly.

'Can you walk? I'd prefer not to have to carry you out of here,' the captain said as he help Shepard to his feet.

Shepard chuckled. 'I made it this far, didn't I, Sir?'

'That you did. Come on, let's get you to a medbay. We need you at full strength ASAP.'

Shepard looked at him curiously as they made their way to the cell door. 'What's the rush?'

'Torfan was just the beginning. There're still a lot of slaver strongholds in the Verge but after what happened here, their leaders aren't going to just stand and fight. We're expecting the pirates to go mobile, to move from planet to planet and present a difficult target. Between this and the Blitz, I don't think we'll have to fight a major battle again. It'll all be cat and mouse from here on out.'

They passed into a cool, darkened corridor that rang with the raised voices of marines and slavers. Anderson fiddled with a button on one of his cuffs and stepped aside to allow a prisoner and his escort to pass.

'The key now is to pinpoint exactly where the slaver fleet is and learn their movements. When the time is right, we strike. This moon was a bloodbath, Shepard, everyone knows it. It's time to take these bastards down quick and clean, just as you've been trained to. Once you're patched up, you'll be sent on operations throughout the Verge, recon mostly. Some wet work.'

Shepard had been on enough black ops to know the routine. 'Sounds like being N7 isn't too far away from an Infiltrator.'

'N7 is just a rank, Shepard, not a job. It just means the Alliance knows what you can do, and they won't hesitate to send you on the toughest, most dangerous assignments. As an Infiltrator, though, you'll be expected to work alone or with small teams. Soldiers and biotics wearing the N7 badge still operate within their units but you'll always be on the move, constantly working with different faces and slipping under the galaxy's net, anywhere and at any time. You were a ghost before. Now you're truly invisible.'

It all sounded familiar to Shepard, and there was comfort in that familiarity. He straightened visibly as they walked, his wounds forgotten and pains dimmed.

'Will you get into trouble, Sir?' he asked. 'With getting my charges dropped, I mean? Admiral Walsh is bound to still have some pull, even after all this. Not to mention Fairburn.'

'Forget about both of them,' Anderson replied sternly. It was an order. 'You're under my command now. When you leave this moon, neither Walsh nor Fairburn will ever see you again.'

They passed through a doorway into the open air. This time it did not seem so oppressive to Shepard and he took in a deep lungful, seeing everything clearly once more. This was a different part of the base, a loose smattering of structures dominated by a large, dusty plain. The hills from which Shepard had stole into the facility were shadows at their back. Three shuttles waited, their thrusters hissing impatiently.

Anderson stopped and looked at Shepard intently. 'Shepard, before we go through with this, I need you to understand something.'

There was an odd light in his eyes and Shepard answered carefully. 'What is it, Sir?'

'You've been working a long time to find Jane, to find the slavers that took her. That's all over now, do you understand me? We...I...need you to find your own reason for fighting, something beyond personal gain. Do you believe in the Alliance? What it stands for?'

Frowning, Shepard shook his head, confused. 'I don't understand. What-?'

'Do you believe in what we're doing, what we're trying to accomplish out here?'

What the Alliance was doing? Shepard's eyes fell to the grim landscape beyond Anderson. The Alliance was waging a war against those that were taking its citizens as slaves, that much was clear, but he knew that answer was too obvious. He saw what Anderson meant then.

'You're asking if I can fight as hard for others as I did for her?'

'That's right. Humanity now has a place in a galaxy that's bigger than we ever thought it could be. You'll be tested by everyone around you, and not just humans. The turians, salarians, asari; they'll always be watching us, judging us and there can be no difference between your sister and the people you're working to defend. The mission always comes first, Shepard. Can you leave the past in the past?'

The more Shepard thought about it, the more difficult it seemed. He took a few moments simply to breathe, to try and think clearly. Jane had been avenged, many times over. It was often said that revenge was meaningless but he had felt content in that cell, even as he laid in his own sweat and blood. He had found her at last and the men that had taken her were either dead or imprisoned. All he could do now was make sure it happened to no one else.

He was a Shepard, in name and deed. Perhaps it was the sense that his father was watching him, but Shepard felt a gravity to the moment as he looked into the eyes of Captain Anderson.

He answered honestly, 'Yes, Sir. My family is gone. I've done what I needed to do and I'll gladly give everything I have to safeguard the people of the Alliance, no matter what.'

'No matter what,' Anderson repeated softly. He saw the resolve in Shepard's gaze, the same resolve he had undoubtedly shown when trudging across Torfan's pitiless landscape to mount a futile rescue. It was in that moment Anderson knew he had made the right choice.

'Come on,' he said, motioning towards the shuttles. 'Let's see how far you're really willing to go.'

**~~ Five years later... ~~**

The city of Vancouver towered over Anderson, a bustling forest of clear, pristine skyscrapers laced with the glinting noon sun. He sat relaxed at a favourite cafe of his, a small, modest place that had thankfully remained undiscovered by the Alliance officers stationed nearby. It was placed on the edged of a lush green park, affording a sweeping view of the Alliance headquarters building, itself little more than a squat, wide mirror, reflecting the city around it in more than just its windows.

Perhaps that was why he liked the cafe, Anderson mused. When so much around him was homogenous, superficial even, it was a genuine pleasure to see something that had looked the same way for decades, maybe longer. His home city of London was like that; the centuries-old Houses of Parliament and Big Ben sitting stubbornly among the gleaming skyscrapers like obstinate old men among youths. One thing they had in common, he thought with a smile.

A shadow fell over the table and Anderson looked up to see Commander Shepard in a dark t-shirt and combat trousers; just another off-duty Alliance soldier. His skin was lined from years of fatigue and physical hardship but it was borne easily. In Shepard's hard, lean features Anderson could read every mission he had undertaken and he had only grown stronger in the years since their first meeting on Torfan.

'Take a seat, Commander,' the captain offered, gesturing towards an empty chair. 'How are you feeling? The gravity getting to you?'

It was Shepard's first time on Earth and he felt it. The air was different - false, in some way, as if it had been scrubbed suspiciously clean before entering his lungs. The gravity had been the least of his worries. Though his bones ached subtly and his muscles occasionally twitched, it was the light that made Shepard truly uncomfortable. It was bright, far more so than most colonies and it was starting to give him a headache.

'I'm fine,' he lied, 'It'll just take some acclimatising.'

He sat down and a waiter brought two tall glasses filled with ice, along with a large pitcher of water. Anderson nodded at the city as he stared across it thoughtfully. 'Don't get too acclimatised. We'll be heading out to Arcturus in a few hours.'

'Arcturus?' Shepard asked, puzzled. The station was named for the star system in which it was built, the destination of the Charon mass relay. It was the Alliance's largest and most important deep space station and the launching point of most major operations. 'What's going on? I thought things were pretty quiet out there?'

Anderson smiled. ''Quiet' is rarely a word we use in our line of work but yeah, compared to the last few years, we're doing okay. No major incidents to speak of but you know as well as I do it's a fragile peace, easily broken.'

'Still, we've come a long way since the Theshaca Raids. I was starting to worry they wouldn't need us any more.'

'Thanks to you,' Anderson pointed out wryly. 'You did your job too well, Shepard. Six months after Torfan and your intel helps us drive out the slavers for good. I know the past few years have been a little dull by comparison but that's part of the reason I called you here.'

He touched a hand to a datapad lying on the table, pushing it slowly in Shepard's direction. 'It's time you rejoined civilisation, Commander. I'm putting you in a command position as Executive Officer of a brand new warship. It's a top-secret project co-developed between us and turians.'

Shepard snatched up the datapad, his brow furrowed. 'The _SSV Normandy_,' he read out before turning his eyes back to Anderson. 'I'm not a Navy officer, Sir. Are you sure you don't want to pick someone over there?'

He dipped his head towards the monolithic Alliance headquarters building.

Anderson chuckled, 'I'd take one Shepard over a thousand Naval officers any day of the week. You're a soldier, Shepard, like me. If anyone's going to be my XO, it'll be someone I know can get the job done. Just try and recall some of your protocol on the flight to Arcturus. The crew will be small enough that you can afford some familiarity and I'll fill in the blanks but you'll need to work in a little pomposity, if only for appearances' sake.'

A ship. It had been so long since Shepard had served any length of time aboard a true warship and part him was still concerned because of it. He was used to working with people that, for all intents and purposes, were little more than assets used to complete his objectives. A ship was extension of one's own family and he wondered if it was something to which he could adapt.

That, and something else, a thought that nagged at him. He toyed with one of the empty glasses, swirling the half-melted ice cubes around before looking back up at the captain.

'Sir, what's so special about this ship that it needs a decorated Special Forces veteran and an N7 Infiltrator?'

The smile fled from Anderson's lips and his expression became stern. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you, at least not now. This is classified stuff, from the highest levels. I know you understand.'

Shepard nodded his agreement. Both of them were accustomed to the culture of secrecy and each knew that the most innocent of facts in the wrong ears could lead to blackmail, theft, even assassination. The commander finally poured out some water and drained the glass in a single gulp.

'When do I meet the crew?'

Anderson took a small sip of his own water. 'They're already aboard. You're the last man to be added to the roster. I'll introduce you to the officers but as you know, you'll have to get to know the servicemen and NCOs yourself. They're all hand-picked so there shouldn't be any discipline issues.'

He set the glass down and his mouth flickered with his trademark half-smile. 'I think you'll get along with them just fine.'


	7. Chapter 7

**MASS EFFECT: DARK SAGA**

***Chapter Seven: Shakedown***

Another gasping breath exploded from her throat. She looked about, her senses aflame with adrenaline as she surveyed the scene with wide, brown eyes. They swivelled beneath the half-lowered visor of her helmet, a white dome patched with pink. The coloured panels matched the sky now; it had been a deep blue only minutes before - when had it turned into an image of Hell?

'Come on!' someone yelled out hoarsely, 'Push them back! We have to retake the dig site!'

Another voice spoke, cutting through the fuggy haze of battle. It was Nirali, the servicewoman whom she had befriended on joining the battalion. Nirali was dark-skinned and beautiful, and always looked younger than she really was. Now though, the soldier's voice seemed much older as she cried in terror.

'Don't be stupid, the dig site's been overrun! We have to fall back to the spaceport.'

The man who had spoken before did so again; their squad leader Lieutenant Perez, an inexperienced man who gave rushed, conflicting orders. 'You're under my command, Bhatia! That means you do whatever the hell I tell you!'

Weapons fire thudded around them, though it was nothing like what Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams had experienced before. She'd spent a long time on the ranges, had fired rifles of almost every kind in the Alliance arsenal but this was something else. The humming, pulsing beat of the enemy guns was almost hypnotic. It was like the music of the clubs in the main settlement, and with every sound came a burst of plasma, searing a blue trail through the air.

'Williams, wake the hell up!' her lieutenant shouted. 'I said cease fire!'

Williams blinked. She eased her finger slowly from the trigger and her Lancer rifle ceased its rumble. The tree line on the hill above them was nothing more than a silent row of tattered stumps and shredded trunks but there was no sign of enemy dead. _How?_ How can a whole squad unload everything they had and yet hit nothing?

She spotted a light among the trees. It was as bright as a lamp; a piercing circle of icy blue. Below, a body moved lithely and silently, and with it rose the shape of a strange, bulbous rifle.

'Get down!' Williams cried. She used her free hand to shove the bewildered Perez to the ground and returned fire, the squad following her in ripping a new line through the battered foliage.

The lieutenant gathered himself and keyed his omni-tool. 'This is Lieutenant Riley Perez of the Two-Twelve,' he said breathlessly. 'This is a priority distress call. We are under attack, enemy unknown. Taking heavy casualties, repeat, heavy casualties! Requesting evac.' He glanced up at the tree line and his voice filled with panic. 'Repeat, we need evac! They came out of nowhere. We have to-'

He shuddered, then fell as a plasma round tore into his chest. There was no blood. The projectile fused his flesh on contact, melding skin with armour.

Williams saw him go down and called out, 'Lieutenant Perez is down! Squad, fall back! Fall back!'

**~~ME-DS~~**

The Arcturus system flowed smoothly past the SSV Normandy's bridge windows. The lustrous stars formed a blanket upon the deep black of space, though they were outmatched by the instrumentation surrounding the crew stations. Hundreds of yellow and orange LEDs blinked and fluttered, forming a flickering cocoon around the helmsman, co-pilot and handful of bridge hands as they silently went about their work.

It was too silent for Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau. As the pilot, he knew just about everything that could be shown by the warbling instruments over his head by the feel of the ship alone. It rumbled beneath him in response to every input he keyed into the haptic panel before him, the motions requiring little thought. When you were as good as he was, boredom set in quickly. Luckily, he had a few ways of manufacturing excitement if things got too quiet.

Outside, the Normandy was a series of smooth curves, its pristine new Alliance paint job shimmering as it glided through the void. The words _Normandy SR1_ were emblazoned upon it like a banner, and the engines mounted on its wings glowed a brilliant blue as the ship accelerated.

Fron the co-pilot's chair came a voice, smooth and husky. 'Easy now, Joker. The relay isn't going anywhere.'

Joker. That was what they called Moreau to the exclusion of all else, to the point where he doubted even his mother remembered his real name. It was not a nickname of his choosing.

With a slight scowl, the young man scratched his beard. It was an old naval tradition, to relax shaving routines on long periods afloat and his current effort was his best yet, forming a thick layer of brown bristles over his jaw. He adjusted the Alliance cap on his head and made an adjustment to the ship's heading. 'Come on, Kaidan, you tryin' to tell me I can't stretch her wings a little while we're out here in the middle of nowhere? They call it a shakedown run for a reason, 'y'know.'

His fellow lieutenant, Kaidan Alenko, smiled. His dark hair was longer than what a marine preferred, but then he was no ordinary Alliance soldier. His easy good looks and calm, pleasant manner hid a biotic talent that still frightened Joker a little at times. According to him, anyone who could 'move things with their mind' was owed a little superstition though Alenko had taken the remark with the intended good humour. He answered Joker's tweaking of the ship's throttle with an adjustment to fuel intake and the haptic panel in front of him bleeped an objection which he immediately overrode.

'Until Adams knows how the Tantalus can cope with the stealth systems engaged, I don't think we should tax her too much,' he said. 'You know how engineers are.'

'Ugh...fine,' Joker grumbled. He lowered the Normandy's speed, though he visibly chafed at the restriction.

Alenko's smile widened at his frustration.

Joker was known as the most talented pilot in the Alliance and his skill was obvious from the outset. He lived and breathed any ship he flew, though his passion could quickly grow into recklessness if not checked. Alenko, by comparison, was quiet and thoughtful, and usually acted only after careful consideration.

Perhaps that was why the lieutenant had been seated next to him, Joker mused. Maybe they still expected some of that consideration to rub off on him, against all odds.

Still, there was another reason Joker had to be on his best behaviour and Alenko voiced it, 'And not to mention our guest. With him reporting to the Council, I'm guessing it wouldn't be a good idea to burn out the drive core before we've even made it out of Arcturus.'

'Which 'guest' you talking about? The alien or the crazy guy?'

Alenko refrained from chuckling. 'Referring to our new XO as 'the crazy guy' might not be the best way to go about making a good impression.'

'Oh come on, you know what they say about Shepard. He's the Butcher of Torfan, the guy who got more marines killed than the turians and gonorrhea combined.'

'That's disgusting. And no, I don't know what they say about him. As far as I'm concerned, they dropped the Torfan charges for a reason, so anything else is pure hearsay.'

Joker fell silent as the Normandy passed through a particle cloud. Outside the windows, the shields fluttered in waves of blue as they deflected invisible, yet deadly pieces of debris, any one of which could punch a hole through an unprotected hull.

When the danger had passed, he let out a quiet snort. 'Hearsay isn't always a bunch of crap, you know. I got a friend over at Jump Zero who was with one of the Torfan battalions under some guy named Fairburn, back when they still had 'general' as a rank. She said the brass tried to take Shepard to the cleaners over what happened; a whole squad of N-School candidates dead and a bunch of hostages too. As if that wasn't enough, he apparently went wacko and started mowing down the prisoners who'd surrendered.'

Joker mimed the action, an invisible pistol jerking in his hand. Alenko shook his head.

'Just sayin',' Joker continued, raising his hands, 'he might not be the best guy to put in charge of crew welfare. Then there's the other guy...'

Footsteps thumped the deck behind him and a shadow fell across the bridge terminals. Joker leaned back to look over his shoulder and his face slackened nervously at the sight of a large turian in imposing slate and burgundy armour. His skin was the colour of charred redwood and his features were edged with slashes of brilliant white paint. Joker had always found turians somewhat intimidating and Nihlus was no exception. If anything, knowing who and what he was only made Joker even more anxious.

Nihlus spoke and the warm flanging of his vocals filled the bridge. 'How long?'

Joker cleared his throat, wondering how much the turian had overheard. 'The Arcturus Prime relay is in range,' he said, the epitome of professionalism. 'Initiating transmission sequence.'

**~~ME-DS~~**

Shepard strode purposefully through the Normandy's Combat Information Centre as he fastened the last clasp on his Onyx armour. The red-on-white N7 stripe running down his right arm was a signal to all and the crew hurried out of his way. Already he could feel the telltale shudder running through the deck as the ship synced itself with the approaching mass relay and he cursed himself for running so late. He picked up the pace, his steps quickening as the ship's trembling grew stronger.

'We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination,' he heard Joker pipe over the intercom.

Shepard entered the narrow tubular passageway leading to the bridge. Already he could see flashes of pale skin as Joker's arms passed over the flight controls. Directly in front of him, the dark bulk of the turian Nihlus stood motionless, his arms folded as he watched the stars slip by.

'The relay is hot, acquiring approach vector.'

The Normandy turned, though in space there was no sensation to accompany the movement. Instead, the galaxy itself shifted outside the windows.

'All stations secure for transit.'

The warning to the crew had been given. Shepard knew he almost was out of time but he could not bring himself to jog the last few feet. He restrained himself and came to a halt at Nihlus' side.

The turian did not so much as glance at him. His focus was purely on the shimmering spike of silver metal that hovered ominously in the void before them. A blue orb hung at back of the mass relay like a false sun, around which great rings of metal rotated, so massive that they dwarfed the approaching ship.

Shepard was close enough now to hear Joker speak. 'Board is green. Approach run has begun.'

The relay loomed to the left of the bridge and as they neared, arcs of energy flashed from the giant orb, grasping the Normandy with blue fingers. The ship vibrated slightly but its speed and heading did not change. Shepard stared ahead blankly, hiding his apprehension. He had been through the relays many times before but it'd been while hiding in cramped cargo bays and mess decks. It was a strange, even frightening thing to witness firsthand but he did not show his tension while the crew watched.

Without warning, the relay took hold. Shepard ground his teeth as tendrils of energy wrapped themselves around the Normandy and propelled it with a resounding thrum into the blackness of space.

It took only a moment. As Shepard blinked, another relay emerged on his right, so instantaneously that at first he thought it was the same one.

Everyone else on the bridge seemed relaxed. Joker prodded at his haptic panel as he read post-transit report aloud, 'Thrusters...check. Navigation...check. Internal Emissions Sink engaged. All systems online. Drift...just under fifteen-hundred _k_.'

Nihlus replied, his tone empty, 'Fifteen-hundred is good. Your captain will be pleased.' Without another word, he turned and left the bridge.

Joker let out an irritated breath. 'I hate that guy. Anyone else would've given me a medal for a jump like that.'

Shepard frowned slightly. Joker was an excellent pilot but more prone to speaking his mind aloud than an officer should be, at least aboard a warship.

'The guy just gave you a compliment,' Lieutenant Alenko retorted. 'So, you hate him?'

'You call that a compliment? You remember to zip up your jumpsuit on the way out of the bathroom, that's good. I just jumped us halfway across the galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead - that's _incredible_.' He threw a quick, bitter glance over his shoulder. 'Besides, Spectres are trouble. Just having him on board gives me the creeps. Call me paranoid.'

'You're paranoid,' Alenko said immediately. 'The Council helped fund this project. They have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment.'

Joker scoffed. 'Yeah, that's the _official_ story. 'Course only an idiot believes the official story.'

A touch of annoyance crept into Shepard's voice. 'That's enough, Joker. Whatever's going on, we'll find out when and if the time comes. Until then, enough with the chatter, both of you.'

Joker's mouth snapped shut. Alenko's response almost sounded triumphant, 'Sorry, Commander.'

The bridge intercom chimed and Captain Anderson's voice filled the air. 'Joker; status report.'

His clipped tone cut through them all, though Joker seemed used to it. 'Just cleared the mass relay, Captain. Stealth systems engaged, everything looks solid.'

It was an important point, despite Joker's businesslike assessment. The Internal Emission Sink stealth systems were an integral part of what made the Normandy so special. They stored and concealed the ship's radiation and heat emissions, while the uniquely curved hull constructed from specialised materials reduced its RADAR and LADAR profile. They all combined to render the Normandy practically invisible to enemy sensors, though there had been fears over how well the IES would take to relay travel.

If Anderson was grateful for the success, he did not show it. 'Good. Find a comm buoy and link us into the network. I want mission reports relayed back to Alliance brass before we reach Eden Prime.'

''Aye, aye, Captain. Better brace yourself, Sir. I think Nihlus is heading your way.'

'He's already here, Lieutenant.'

Shepard resisted a smile at the curt reply and Joker closed his eyes in embarrassment, shaking his head. Alenko threw him a sharp look of disapproval.

'Tell Commander Shepard to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing,' Anderson said before cutting the signal.

'You get that, Commander?' Joker asked meekly.

Shepard gave a short nod. 'I'm on my way.'

Joker glanced back to watch him leave. 'Is it just me or does the Captain always sound pissed off?'

'Only when he's talking to you, Joker.' Alenko answered.

**~~ME-DS~~**

Shepard walked, not too quickly, back down towards the CIC and Joker's earlier words came to mind. The helmsman had a right to be suspicious but he was unused to sensitive operations. As Anderson had said back on Earth, secrecy was part of the job.

Such a thing was only easier to accept over time however, and Shepard had to remember that Joker would need to be reminded of the fact. From the chatter that Shepard's sharp ears caught whispered between the crewmen, it seemed very few of them had been involved in anything this covert and the commander resigned himself to having to deal with rumour control as best he could.

As he approached the terminals that surrounded the CIC's main platform he caught sight of Navigator Pressley. The lieutenant was an older man yet still in fine shape, with a bald pate surrounded by a neatly-trimmed ring of greying hair. The lieutenant was speaking into an intercom, just loud enough to be overheard.

'I'm telling you, he walked by just now and he wasn't 'supervising' anything. Just steamed right on by, like he was on a mission.'

'He's a Spectre, he's always on a mission,' came a droll reply. Shepard recognised the other voice as that of Chief Engineer Adams, a fellow officer and the man in charge of the running of the Normandy. His voice was deep and gravelly in person - more so over the intercom speakers.

'Yeah, and we're getting dragged right along with him.'

The intercom clicked as Adams chuckled. 'Relax, Pressley, you're 'gonna give yourself an ulcer.'

Shepard's brow knotted in frustration. He stopped and cleared his throat, prompting Pressley to turn. The navigator started slightly but quickly composed himself and saluted.

'Congratulations, Commander, looks like we had a smooth run. It's always touch and go when we put a new ship through a relay, let alone one with something as advanced as the IES system on board. That's one less worry on our minds.'

A pang of guilt at having to nitpick almost made Shepard nod and walk away but he was the Normandy's XO. Anderson expected him to do his job, no matter how rusty he was at enforcing rules of conduct.

'Do you have a problem with our turian guest?' he asked evenly.

A momentary look of alarm passed over Pressley at having been overheard but there was nothing to be gained from denial. He let out a resigned breath, 'Look, Commander, with respect I just can't help but feel that we're out here under false pretences. Even if this is an experimental vessel, this is just a shakedown run. We're only supposed to run a few laps around Eden Prime to test the stealth systems, so why the full crew? It also doesn't make sense to have Captain Anderson, one of the most decorated soldiers in the service as our CO. I can think of a dozen captains with decades of experience commanding warships, all of whom would be a better choice.'

Shepard kept his expression blank as his earlier concerns were echoed. 'You don't approve of Captain Anderson?'

'Don't get me wrong, I know his reputation is well-earned. I just question why a leatherneck like him is wasted here? And then there's Nihlus...'

'I heard you talking about him with Adams. Nihlus is just an observer, someone the Council sent to keep an eye on things. The turians helped us build this ship so it makes sense to have one along.'

Pressley's eyes hardened. 'Certain aspects of the design might be alien, Sir, but the real ingenuity - the Tantalus drive core, the IES stealth systems - its all human-engineered. We might have to make nice with the turians nowadays but we don't need them looking over our shoulders on our own ship.'

Shepard narrowed his eyes slightly. It had been said that he was good at reading people and judging their responses, though he knew it was simply part of being an Infiltrator. Combat was only part of the job; another was to gather information and act, and the skill came to the fore naturally in any situation.

'So you don't like him because he's a turian?' he asked.

Pressley shrugged. His reply was unapologetic. 'Runs in the family. My grandfather served in the First Contact War. We lost a lot of good men back then.'

'Nihlus wasn't there thirty years ago,' Shepard pointed out. 'It's a little unfair to blame him.'

'I'm not blaming him, Commander, I just...' Pressley trailed off as tried to give voice to his frustration. 'It's not only that he's a turian. He's a Spectre. An elite operative, one of the best in the galaxy and the right hand of the Council. Just like Captain Anderson, he doesn't _fit_. The whole crew feels it, Sir.'

Shepard expelled a breath through his nostrils and glanced about the CIC. The crew were busy with their duties but the subtle tension that he felt prior to the relay jump was still there. Could it have been down to what Pressley was talking about?

'All right,' he said quietly, 'I get it, and for what it's worth, I'm just as in the dark as you are. Nobody likes being kept in the dark. But you're an officer, Pressley and I expect you to set an example. Info is on a need-to-know basis right now, there's nothing you, I or Captain Anderson can do about that. Until that changes I need you to show the discipline we'd want from the rest of the crew. Am I clear?'

Something like relief flooded through Pressley at the order. Perhaps he simply needed to get it off his chest. He saluted, 'Clear, Commander.'

Shepard nodded and continued on his way, skirting around a marine coming the other way. To his left, the command dias rose on a ramp to dominate the room, on front of which the galaxy map swirled. The projection was impossibly complex and from the top of the dias, could be manipulated to show every inch of charted space, from clusters to systems, right down to individual planets.

He blinked as he caught another voice rising above the CIC's steady bustle, the tone light and eager.

'I grew up on Eden Prime, Doc, it's not the kind of place Spectres visit. There's something they're not telling us; Nihlus, Captain Anderson, Commander Shepard too.'

It could only have been Corporal Jenkins, the same marine that had accosted Shepard immediately on his arrival to express his admiration at the commander's performance in the Skyllian Verge. The young man was speaking with the ship's medical officer, Doctor Chakwas and Shepard fought the urge to roll his eyes as he realised what they were discussing. How many times would he have to hear the same whispers?

_All part of the job_, he could almost hear Anderson say, with his traditional smirk.

'You've been watching too many spy vids, Jenkins,' Chakwas said with a laugh as Shepard approached. She was a proper, well-spoken woman and it was always somewhat odd to see her so relaxed around the lower ranks. Her appearance was as meticulous as the way she went about her job. Her hair hung in ashen grey curtains, trimmed neatly above the collar of a white-patched Alliance medical uniform that clung tightly to her slim frame.

Jenkins' eyes snapped to Shepard and he saluted immediately. 'What do you think, Commander? We won't be staying on Eden Prime too long, will we? I'm itching for some real action!'

Shepard looked him over. Jenkins had served well, earning his promotion to corporal without having had a combat mission. It was not unheard of in these quiet years after the Skyllian Blitz but it still amazed Shepard at times.

'I sincerely hope you're kidding, Corporal,' Chakwas replied sternly. 'Your 'real action' usually ends up with me patching up crew members in the infirmary.'

Shepard allowed himself a small grin. He still remembered the days when he was fresh out of training and keen to put his new skills to the test. 'That's what the corporal signed up for,' he added. 'He's a marine, it's his job to fight. You just patch us up when we're done.'

Something flashed across Chakwas' eyes and she stiffened subtly. 'I _know _how things work, Commander. I've seen my share of combat but it's foolish to go looking for trouble.'

At that, Shepard chuckled soundlessly, dipping his head. It was difficult not to like Doctor Chakwas but a part of her was still the idealistic young doctor she had once been when she signed up.

'You say that like we have a choice,' he said quietly before turning back to Jenkins. 'But the doctor has a point. You'll see your share of combat, so be patient.'

'Easy for you to say, Sir, you proved yourself on Torfan. We already know what you can do. Hell, we've got Captain Anderson himself aboard! I'm not going to get an opportunity like this again - I have to show him and Nihlus what I can do!'

Shepard's smile disappeared. 'This isn't about personal glory, Corporal. The mission is what matters. Don't do anything to jeopardise it.'

Jenkins nodded. 'Don't worry, Sir, I'm not going to screw this up.'

A thought crossed Shepard's mind and he folded his arms, relaxed. 'You're from Eden Prime, aren't you, Jenkins? What's it like?'

Shepard thought it was a fairly transparent attempt to garner a reason for the Normandy's mission but Jenkins didn't seem to notice. He replied eagerly, 'It's a colony world, real peaceful, mostly farmland. They house the settlements in vertical towers to cut down on noise and pollution; 'learning from Earth's mistakes' they always used to say in the vids. As I got older though, I knew it was too calm and quiet for me. There's nothing out there that a Spectre would be interested in.'

Not that it would stop the rumours, Shepard thought sardonically. He changed subject quickly. 'I've worked with alien special forces before, Council races mainly but I've never seen a Spectre. What do you know about them?'

Jenkins became very animated at that, to Chakwas' obvious amusement. 'They're the Council's top covert agents. When they don't want to send the Citadel Fleet in, they send a Spectre. Each one is hand-picked from the best of the best of all races. They're authorised to go anywhere, do almost anything to get the job done!'

'The corporal is confusing romantic legend with reality, Commander. Nobody really knows what Spectres get up to. All we know is their activities are highly classified and they're dispatched on missions to maintain galactic stability, with a mandate to preserve it by any means necessary.'

'Kinda like what you do in the Alliance,' Jenkins said, motioning to Shepard. 'What you did on Torfan - that's what they look for in the Spectres. Ruthless efficiency, willingness to do whatever it takes, getting the job done no matter the cost!'

A shadow fell over Shepard's thoughts. He remembered faces, smells, the taste of blood on his tongue, all long-buried. 'I didn't enjoy Torfan, Corporal,' he said softly. 'I just...did what I had to do, no more, no less.'

'I...I'm sorry, Commander,' Jenkins stammered. 'I got a little carried away, I didn't mean any disrespect.'

Shepard waved his hand dismissively. 'Don't worry about it. In any case, I've heard they only let members of the Council races into the Spectres. I doubt that'll change in my lifetime.'

'Only a matter of time, Sir,' Jenkins replied optimistically. 'It only took us thirty years to get an embassy on the Citadel. Some species waited centuries for that honour!'

'The turians didn't like that one bit,' Chakwas interjected. 'I can't imagine they'd be any more eager to accept a human into the Spectres.'

Shepard was about to respond when he remember Anderson's summons. He smiled politely. 'I'd better get going, the captain's waiting for me. It was good talking with you again, Doctor.'

Chakwas and Jenkins murmured a farewell that was quickly lost as Shepard's boots thumped on the deck. The comm room was nearby and his heart quickened at the thought of finally discovering what the Normandy's true objective was.

**~~ME-DS~~**

'They're moving!' Nirali exclaimed as she pointed over the scope of her Lancer. She loosed another burst and the rounds sent clumps of mud flying from the hillside.

Williams grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away. 'Don't fall behind, come on! We have to keep moving!'

Giant cubes of rough-cut grey stone lay scattered over the countryside, painted red by the crimson sky. From behind them, plasma bolts poured onto the fleeing soldiers. The deadly rounds scorched the earth wherever they fell, blackening the grass and soil and turning it to glass.

Nirali struggled against Williams' grip. 'They're still alive! We can't just leave them!'

'If we turn back now we're _all _dead!' Williams argued back, her teeth bared beneath her visor. She was taller and stronger than most women but Nirali was frenzied with grief and fear. She was difficult to control as she struggled wildly.

'They're still moving!' she screamed. She fired her rifle with her free hand and the slugs fell scattered, impacting harmlessly on the distant rises. 'They're still there, on top of those...those things! They're still _alive!_'

Williams did not know what she was talking about anymore. She had sent Nirali out on a scouting run with two others in their squad when Perez had died, right after they had lost the first group of attackers. It hadn't been long before Nirali returned alone. Her shields were burned out and she'd spoken nothing but nonsense ever since.

With a grunt, Williams adjusted her hold, clasping Nirali firmly around the waist. 'Don't give up on me. There's only five of us left now, Nirali. We need you!'

'Still alive,' Nirali whimpered. Tears streaked her skin, their trails glinting pink. 'Geth. They must be...no other...'

'The geth don't exist!' Williams shouted. They couldn't, surely. Their enemy couldn't be the alien synthetic race of legend who had sent their masters into brutal exile. The story was well known among the Alliance; a true example of the dangers of AI, the kind of tale that had been told for many years among their own people.

She couldn't believe it and yet the brief glimpses she had caught of their attackers spoke of cold, blue metal and a limbs that curved at angles that matched no organic species she knew of. The geth don't exist, she told herself again as she hauled Nirali behind her, her boots cutting into the soft ground as they scraped along.

The geth do not exist.


End file.
